"0 

••-  mm. 


J 


CURTIS 


J.  Henry  Senger 


PRUE 


BY  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS 

// 

ILL  USTRA  TED  FROM  DRA  W- 
INGS  BY  ALBERT  EDWARD 
STERNER 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

NEW  YORK  MDCCCXCIV 


Copyright,  1892,  by  HARPER  &   BROTHERS. 


MEMORIAM 


J 


TO 

Mrs.  Henry  W.  Longfellow 

IN    MEMORY    OF    HAPPY    HOURS    AT    MY 
CASTLES  IN  SPAIN 


9SS475 


£*%^  /•r^t-x-'-r    e^^?      **T*-t^   >C<L-tx^ 

-^^^t^ii/      >^l*t^^-^^J3     ^-*--*C3      ^Xlt^^-, 
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PAGE 

DINNER-TIME 3 

MY  CHATEAUX 43 

SEA  FROM  SHORE 83 

TITBOTTOM'S  SPECTACLES     ...          .129 

A  CRUISE  IN  THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN  .  181 

FAMILY  PORTRAITS 227 

OUR  COUSIN  THE  CURATE 247 


,*  I  LIU  STRATI  a 


DINNER-TIME 

Head-piece    .        .  

"  But  God  bless  you  !" 

The  Book-keeper 

"  I  see  Aurelia's  carriage  stop  " 

"  And  surveys  her  form  at  length  "      .... 
"  What  a  beautiful  day,  Miss  Aurelia !" 
"  Seating  the  trousers  of  Adoniram  "  . 
"  Haggling  with  the  wrinkled  Eve  "    . 

"  Helping  her  to  a  lady-finger  " 

"  I  should  have  taken  out  the  maiden  aunt  " 
"  Some  of  that  Arethusa  Madeira  "     . 

"  Both  very  eager  for  dinner  " 

''  While  the  maid  arranges  the  last  flowers  in  her  hair ' 
"  Secluding  her  with  his  constant  devotion  " 

The  Club 

"  One  of  those  graciously  beaming  bows  " 
Tail-piece 

MY  CHATEAUX 

Head-piece    ......... 

Eton 

"  I  read  aloud  the  romantic  story  of  his  life  "     . 

Mr.  Titbottom 

"  I  was  just  building  a  castle  in  Spain  "... 
xvii 


PAGE 
3 
5 
7 
8 
ii 
13 

•  '5 

!7 

19 

22 
25 

•  27 
31 

•  33 
35 
37 
40 


PAGE 

Sorrento 53 

"  She  could  make  pudding  and  cake  "          .         .         .         .  55 

Mr.  Bourne ...  58 

The  desert     ..........  61 

"  1  fell  in  love  with  her  many  and  many  years  ago  "  .         .  63 

"  I  bought  an  extra  " 67 

"  Thank  God,  I  own  this  landscape  !"          .         .         .         .69 

"  Titbottom  lay  back  upon  the  ground "      •         •         •         •  73 

"  Sometimes  I  awake  at  night  " 76 

"  Prue  was  sitting  in  the  small  parlor,  reading  "          •         •  77 

"  Sweeter  than  psalm  singing  " 79 

Tail-piece .         .  80 

SEA   FROM   SHORE 

Head-piece .         .       83 

"  A  straight  scarlet  collar,  stiff  with  gold  lace  "  .         .         -85 

Nantucket 87 

"  A  great  ship  " 89 

"  I  placed  my  hand  upon  the  hot  hulk  "      .         .         .         -91 
"  Men  with  large  stomachs,  and  heavy  watch-seals  "  .         .       93 

"  And  there  sat,  looking  out  to  sea  " 95 

"  I  am  a  suitor  of  Vittoria  Colonna  " 97 

The  bank  of  the  Nile 101 


Venice  . 


103 


"And  there  watched  the  departure  " 105 

Zobeide  in  the  Caliph's  Garden 107 

"  I  held  my  cousin's  little  hand  in  mine"  .         .         .         .  109 

"  I  leaned  against  the  post " 112 

Hebe 113 

"  Bartleby,  the  Scrivener  " 115 

Venice 117 

"  The  sad  shores  of  wintry  New  England  "         .         .         .119 

The  solitary  point 121 

Tail-piece      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .125 

TITBOTTOM'S   SPECTACLES 

Head-piece    ..........  129 

The  spectacles 131 

"  In  a  glass  dish  for  the  centre  of  the  table  "       .         .         .  133 

"  We  sipped  our  wine  after  dinner" 137 

"  He  paced  the  great  piazza  for  hours  "  139 

"  He  used  sometimes  to  sit  there  for  the  whole  day  "         .  141 

"  Promenading  in  full  ball-dress  " 145 

"  He  called  for  his  spy-glass  " 149 

xviii 


PAGE 

"  Ministering  to  the  old  gentleman  "  .  •      '53 

"  My  grandmother  sent  me  to  school  "  .      157 

"  With  him  I  used  to  walk  by  the  sea  "  .161 
"  I  tried  to  teach,  for  I  loved  children  "       .         .         .         -165 

Preciosa •                 .169 

"  Before  a  picture  forever  veiled  "  -173 

Tail-piece      ....  .     177 

A   CRUISE    IN   THE   FLYING   DUTCHMAN 

Head-piece   .  .      181 

"  I  throw  up  the  chamber  window  "  -185 

"  The  drowsy  tune  of  a  hand-organ "  .         .  .         .189 

"  The  old  and  withered  face  of  the  pilot  "  -193 

"  My  woe  is  infinite  like  my  sin  " 197 

"  The  motley  crew  "     ........     201 

Le  Baron  Munchausen 205 

"  '  Smoke,  smoke,'  repeated  he,  sadly  "  .     209 

The  Alchemist 215 

Spring  .        .  .219 

Tail-piece      ....  .     223 

FAMILY   PORTRAITS 

Head-piece •  227 

"  Gazing  steadfastly  at  the  picture  "  .  229 

"  A  gentleman  in  a  huge  curling  wig  "         ....  233 

Lady  Dorothea 237 

The  Painter 240 

A  family  portrait  .         .  .  242 

Tail-piece      .         .  .  244 

OUR  COUSIN  THE  CURATE 

Head-piece    ....  .  247 

"  The  large  aunt "  .        .  249 

Flora 251 

"  He  wrote  the  most  gloomy  and  passionate  letters"          .  253 

"  They  constantly  loved  " 255 

"  She  was  a  gay,  glancing  girl  " 257 

"  A  young  foreigner  with  Flora  " 259 

The  meeting-house        .        .  263 

"Wreathed  with  orange  flowers" 265 

"  The  children  in  the  nursery  " 267 

"  He  went  to  all  the  famous  places  " 269 

"  He  was  charmed  with  everything  " 271 

Tail-piece 272 

xix 


DINNER-TIME 


a$zLj&% 


Within  this  hour  it  mil  be  dinner-time ; 

I'll  view  the  manners  of  tbe  town, 

Peruse  the  traders,  ga^e  upon  the  buildings." 

— Comedy  of  Errors. 


IN  the  warm  afternoons  of  the  early  sum 
mer,  it  is  my  pleasure  to  stroll  about  Wash 
ington  Square  and  along  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
at  the  hour  when  the  diners-out  are  hurry 
ing  to  the  tables  of  the  wealthy  and  refined. 
I  gaze  with  placid  delight  upon  the  cheer 
ful  expanse  of  white  waistcoat  that  illumes 
those  streets  at  that  hour,  and  mark  the 
variety  of  emotions  that  swell  beneath  all 
that  purity.  A  man  going  out  to  dine  has 
a  singular  cheerfulness  of  aspect.  Except 
for  his  gloves,  which  fit  so  well,  and  which 
he  has  carefully  buttoned,  that  he  may  not 
make  an  awkward  pause  in  the  hall  of  his 
friend's  house,  I  am  sure  he  would  search 
his  pocket  for  a  cent  to  give  the  wan  beg 
gar  at  the  corner.  It  is  impossible  just 
now,  my  dear  woman  ;  but  God  bless  you  ! 

3 


It  is  pleasant  to  consider  that  simple  suit 
of  black.  If  my  man  be  young  and  only  late 
ly  cognizant  of  the  rigors  of  the  social  law, 
he  is  a  little  nervous  at  being  seen  in  his 
dress-suit—body  coat  and  black  trousers — 
before  sunset.  For  in  the  last  days  of  May 
the  light  lingers  long  over  the  freshly  leaved 
trees  in  the  Square,  and  lies  warm  along  the 
Avenue.  All  winter  the  sun  has  not  been 
permitted  to  see  dress-coats.  They  come  out 
only  with  the  stars,  and  fade  with  ghosts,  be 
fore  the  dawn.  Except,  haply,  they  be  brought 
homeward  before  breakfast  in  an  early  twi 
light  of  hackney-coach.  Now,  in  the  budding 
and  bursting  summer,  the  sun  takes  his  re 
venge,  and  looks  aslant  over  the  tree -tops 
and  the  chimneys  upon  the  most  unimpeach 
able  garments.  A  cat  may  look  upon  a  king. 

I  know  my  man  at  a  distance.  If  I  am 
chatting  with  the  nursery-maids  around  the 
fountain,  I  see  him  upon  the  broad  walk  of 
\Yashington  Square,  and  detect  him  by  the 
freshness  of  his  movement,  his  springy  gait. 
Then  the  white  waistcoat  flashes  in  the  sun. 

"  Go  on,  happy  youth,''  I  exclaim  aloud,  to 
the  great  alarm  of  the  nursery-maids,  who 
suppose  me  to  be  an  innocent  insane  per 
son  suffered  to  go  at  large,  unattended— 
"go  on,  and  be  happy  with  fellow-waistcoats 
over  fragrant  wines." 

It  is  hard  to  describe  the  pleasure  in  this 


amiable  spectacle  of  a  man  going  out  to 
dine.  I,  who  am  a  quiet  family  man,  and 
take  a  quiet  family  cut  at  four  o'clock  ;  or, 
when  I  am  detained  down-town  by  a  false 
quantity  in  my  figures,  who  run  into  Del- 
monico's  and  seek  comfort  in  a  cutlet,  am 
rarely  invited  to  dinner,  and  have  few  white 
waistcoats.  Indeed,  my  dear  Prue  tells  me 
that  I  have  but  one  in  the  world,  and  I  of 
ten  want  to  confront  my  eager  young  friends 
as  they  bound  along,  and  ask  abruptly, 
"What  do  you  think  of  a  man  whom  one 
white  waistcoat  suffices  ?" 

By  the  time  I  have  eaten  my  modest  re 
past  it  is  the  hour  for  the  diners -out  to  ap 
pear.     If  the  day  is  unusually  soft  and  sun 
ny,  I  hurry  my  simple  meal  a  little,  that   I 
may   not    lose    any  of    my 
favorite   spectacle.     Then 
I     saunter     out.       If    you          ...:>" 
met  me  you  would  see  that 
1    am    also   clad   in    black. 
But  black  is  my  natural  col 
or,  so  that  it  begets  no  false 
theories    concerning   my  in 
tentions.       Nobody,  meeting 
me    in    full    black    supposes 
that  I  am  going  to  dine  out. 
That    sombre    hue    is    profes 
sional  with  me.     It  belongs  to 
book-keepers  as  to  clergymen, 


physicians,  and  undertakers.  We  wear  it 
because  we  follow  solemn  callings.  Saving 
men's  bodies  and  souls,  or  keeping  the  ma 
chinery  of  business  well  wound,  are  such 
sad  professions  that  it  is  becoming  to  drape 
dolefully  those  who  adopt  them. 

I  wear  a  white  cravat,  too,  but  nobody 
supposes  that  it  is  in  any  danger  of  being 
stained  by  Lafitte.  It  is  a  limp  cravat  with 
a  craven  tie.  It  has  none  of  the  dazzling 
dash  of  the  white  that  my  young  friends 
sport,  or,  I  should  say,  sported ;  for  the 
white  cravat  is  now  abandoned  to  the  som 
bre  professions  of  which  I  spoke.  My  young 
friends  suspect  that  the  flunkies  of  the  Brit 
ish  nobleman  wear  such  ties,  and  they  have, 
therefore,  discarded  them.  I  am  sorry  to 
remark,  also,  an  uneasiness,  if  not  down 
right  scepticism,  about  the  white  waistcoat. 
Will  it  extend  to  shirts  ?  I  ask  myself  with 
sorrow. 

But  there  is  something  pleasanter  to  con 
template  during  these  quiet  strolls  of  mine 
than  the  men  who  are  going  to  dine  out, 
and  that  is,  the  women.  They  roll  in  car 
riages  to  the  happy  houses  which  they  shall 
honor,  and  I  strain  my  eyes  in  at  the  car 
riage  window  to  see  their  cheerful  faces  as 
they  pass.  I  have  already  dined — upon  beef 
and  cabbage,  probably,  if  it  is  boiled  day. 
I  am  not  expected  at  the  table  to  which  Au- 


relia  is  hastening,  yet  no  guest  there  shall 
enjoy  more  than   I   enjoy  —  nor  so  much, 
if  he  considers  the  meats  the  best  part  of 
the  dinner.    The  beauty  of  the  beautiful 
Aurelia  I  see  and  worship  as  she 
drives  by.    The  vision  of  many 
beautiful    Aurelias    driving    to 
dinner    is   the    mirage    of  that 
pleasant  journey  of  mine  along 
the  Avenue.    I  do  not  en 
vy  the  Persian  poets,  on 
those  afternoons,  nor  long 
to  be  an  Arabian  traveller. 
For  I  can  walk  that  street, 
finer    than   any  of  which 
the    Ispahan    architects 
dreamed ;    and  I  can  see 
sultanas    as    splendid    as 
the   enthusiastic  and  ex 
aggerating   Orientals   de 
scribe. 

But  not  only  do  I  see 
and  enjoy  Aurelia's  beau 
ty.     I  delight  in  her  exqui 
site  attire.     In  these  warm 
days  she  does  not  wear  over 
her  dress  so  much  as  the  light 
est  shawl.     She  is  clad  only  in 
spring   sunshine.      It   glitters    in    the    soft 
darkness  of  her  hair.     It  touches  the  dia 
monds,  the  opals,  the  pearls,  that  cling  to 


her  arms  and  neck  and  fingers.  They  flash 
back  again,  and  the  gorgeous  silks  glisten, 
and  the  light  laces  flutter,  until  the  stately 
Aurelia  seems  to  me,  in  tremulous  radiance, 
floating  by. 

I  doubt  whether  you  who  are  to  have 
the  inexpressible  pleas 
ure  of  dining  with 


her,  and  even  of  sitting 
by  her  side,  will   enjoy 
more  than  I.     For  my 
pleasure    is    inexpres 
sible,  also.     And   it   is 
in    this,  greater    than 
yours,  that  I  see  all  the 
beautiful  guests  who  are  to  dine  at 
various  tables,  while  you  see  only  your  own 
circle,  although  that,  I  will  not  deny,  is  the 
most  desirable  of  all. 


Besides,  although  my  person  is  not  pres 
ent  at  your  dinner,  my  fancy  is.  I  see  Aure- 
lia's  carnage  stop,  and  behold  white-gloved 
servants  opening  wide  doors.  There  is  a 
brief  glimpse  of  magnificence  for  the  eager 
eyes  of  the  loiterers  outside ;  then  the  door 
closes.  But  my  fancy  went  in  with  Aurelia. 
With  her,  it  looks  at  the  vast  mirror,  and 
surveys  her  form  at  length  in  the  Psyche- 
glass.  It  gives  the  final  shake  to  the  skirt, 
the  last  flirt  to  the  embroidered  handker 
chief,  carefully  held,  and  adjusts  the  bou 
quet,  complete  as  a  tropic  nestling  in  or 
ange  leaves.  It  descends  with  her,  and 
marks  the  faint  blush  upon  her  cheek  at  the 
thought  of  her  exceeding  beauty :  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  most  beautiful  woman 
that  the  most  beautiful  woman  is  entering 
the  room.  There  is  a  momentary  hush,  a 
subdued  greeting,  the  quick  glance  of  the 
Aurelias  who  have  arrived  earlier,  and  who 
perceive  in  a  moment  the  hopeless  perfec 
tion  of  that  attire ;  the  courtly  gaze  of  gen 
tlemen,  who  feel  the  serenity  of  that  beauty. 
All  this  my  fancy  surveys;  my  fancy,  Au- 
relia's  invisible  cavalier. 

You  approach  with  hat  in  hand  and  the 
thumb  of  your  left  hand  in  your  waistcoat- 
pocket.  You  are  polished  and  cool,  and 
have  an  irreproachable  repose  of  manner. 
There  are  no  improper  wrinkles  in  your  cra- 

9 


vat ;  your  shirt-bosom  does  not  bulge ;  the 
trousers  are  accurate  about  your  admirable 
boots.  But  you  look  very  stiff  and  brittle. 
You  are  a  little  bullied  by  your  unexcep 
tionable  shirt -collar,  which  interdicts  per 
fect  freedom  of  movement  to  your  head. 
You  are  elegant,  undoubtedly,  but  it  seems 
as  if  you  might  break  and  fall  to  pieces, 
like  a  porcelain  vase,  if  you  were  roughly 
shaken. 

Now,  here,  I  have  the  advantage  of  you. 
My  fancy  quietly  surveying  the  scene  is 
subject  to  none  of  these  embarrassments. 
My  fancy  will  not  utter  commonplaces.  It 
will  not  say  to  the  superb  lady,  who  stands 
with  her  flowers,  incarnate  May,  "What  a 
beautiful  day,  Miss  Aurelia."  It  will  not 
feel  constrained  to  say  something  when  it 
has  nothing  to  say ;  nor  will  it  be  obliged  to 
smother  all  the  pleasant  things  that  occur, 
because  they  would  be  too  flattering  to  ex 
press.  My  fancy  perpetually  murmurs  in 
Aurelia's  ear,  "Those  flowers  would  not  be 
fair  in  your  hand  if  you  yourself  were  not 
fairer.  That  diamond  necklace  would  be 
gaudy  if  your  eyes  were  not  brighter.  That 
queenly  movement  would  be  awkward  if 
your  soul  were  not  queenlier." 

You  could  not  say  such  things  to  Aurelia, 
although,  if  you  are  worthy  to  dine  at  her 
side,  they  are  the  very  things  you  are  long- 


ing  to  say.  What  insufferable  stuff  you  are 
talking  about  the  weather  and  the  opera 
and  Alboni's  delicious  voice  and  Newport 
and  Saratoga!  They  are  all  very  pleasant 
subjects,  but  do  you  suppose  Ixion  talked 
Thessalian  gossip  when  he  was  admitted 
to  dine  with  Juno? 

I  almost  begin  to  pity  you,  and  to  believe 
that  a  scarcity  of  white  waistcoats  is  true 
wisdom.  For  now  dinner  is  announced,  and 


you,  O  rare  felicity,  are  to  hand  down  Aure- 
lia.  But  you  run  the  risk  of  tumbling  her 
expansive  skirt,  and  you  have  to  drop  your 
hat  upon  a  chance  chair,  and  wonder,  en 
passant,  who  will  wear  it  home,  which  is 
annoying.  My  fancy  runs  no  such  risk ; 
is  not  at  all  solicitous  about  its  hat,  and 
glides  by  the  side  of  Aurelia,  stately  as  she. 
There!  you  stumble  on  the  stair,  and  are 
vexed  at  your  own  awkwardness,  and  are 
sure  you  saw  the  ghost  of  a  smile  glimmer 
along  that  superb  face  at  your  side.  My 
fancy  doesn't  tumble  down-stairs,  and  what 
looks  it  sees  upon  Aurelia's  face  are  its  own 
secret. 

Is  it  any  better,  now  you  are  seated  at 
table  ?  Your  companion  eats  little  because 
she  wishes  little.  You  eat  little  because 
you  think  it  is  elegant  to  do  so.  It  is  a 
shabby,  second-hand  elegance,  like  your 
brittle  behavior.  It  is  just  as  foolish  for 
you  to  play  with  the  meats,  when  you  ought 
to  satisfy  your  healthy  appetite  generously, 
as  it  is  for  you,  in  the  drawing-room,  to  af 
fect  that  cool  indifference  when  you  have 
real  and  noble  sympathies. 

I  grant  you  that  fine  manners,  if  you 
please,  are  a  fine  art.  But  is  not  monoto 
ny  the  destruction  of  art  ?  Your  manners, 
O  happy  Ixion,  banqueting  with  Juno,  are 
Egyptian.  They  have  no  perspective,  no 


variety.  They  have  no  color,  no  shading. 
They  are  all  on  a  dead  level ;  they  are  flat. 
Now,  for  you  are  a  man  of  sense,  you  are 
conscious  that  those  wonderful  eyes  of  Au- 
relia  see  straight  through  all  this  net -work 
of  elegant  manners  in  which  you  have  en 
tangled  yourself,  and  that  consciousness  is 
uncomfortable  to  you.  It  is  another  trick 
in  the  game  for  me,  because  those  eyes  do 
not  pry  into  my  fancy.  How  can 
they,  since  Aurelia  does  not 
know  of  my  existence  ? 

Unless,  indeed,  she    should 
remember  the  first  time  I  saw 
her.    It  was  only  last  year,  in 
May.     I  had  dined,  some 
what  hastily,  in  considera 
tion  of  the  fine  day,  and  of 
my  confidence   that  many 
guests  would  be  wending 
dinnerward    that   after 
noon.     I  saw  my  Prue      // 
comfortably  engaged 
in   seating   the    trou 
sers  of  Adoniram,  our 
eldest  boy — an  econom 
ical    care    to   which   my 
darling  Prue  is  not  un 
equal,  even  in  these  days 
and  in  this   town  —  and 
then  hurried  towards  the 


Avenue.  It  is  never  much  thronged  at  that 
hour.  The  moment  is  sacred  to  dinner.  As 
I  paused  at  the  corner  of  Twelfth  Street,  by 
the  church,  you  remember,  I  saw  an  apple- 
woman,  from  whose  stores  I  determined  to 
finish  my  dessert,  which  had  been  imperfect 
at  home.  But,  mindful  of  the  meritorious 
and  economical  Prue,  I  was  not  the  man  to 
pay  exorbitant  prices  for  apples,  and  while 
still  haggling  with  the  wrinkled  Eve  who  had 
tempted  me,  I  became  suddenly  aware  of  a 
carriage  approaching,  and,  indeed,  already 
close  by.  I  raised  my  eyes,  still  munching 
an  apple  which  I  held  in  one  hand,  while 
the  other  grasped  my  walking-stick  (true  to 
my  instincts  of  dinner-guests,  as  young  wom 
en  to  a  passing  wedding  or  old  ones  to  a 
funeral),  and  beheld  Aurelia ! 

Old  in  this  kind  of  observation  as  I  am, 
there  was  something  so  graciously  alluring 
in  the  look  that  she  cast  upon  me,  as  un 
consciously,  indeed,  as  she  would  have  cast 
it  upon  the  church,  that,  fumbling  hastily 
for  my  spectacles  to  enjoy  the  boon  more 
fully,  I  thoughtlessly  advanced  upon  the  ap 
ple-stand,  and,  in  some  indescribable  man 
ner,  tripping,  down  we  all  fell  into  the  street 
— old  woman,  apples,  baskets,  stand,  and  I, 
in  promiscuous  confusion.  As  I  struggled 
there,  somewhat  bewildered,  yet  sufficiently 
self-possessed  to  look  after  the  carriage,  I 

16 


beheld  that  beautiful  woman  looking  at  us 
through  the  back  window  (you  could  not 
have  done  it ;  the  integrity  of  your  shirt- 
collar  would  have  interfered),  and  smiling 
pleasantly,  so  that  her  going  around  the 
corner  was  like  a  gentle  sunset,  so  seemed 
she  to  disappear  in  her  own  smiling ;  or — if 


you  choose,  in  view  of  the  ap 
ple   difficulties  —  like  a  rainbow 
after  a  storm. 

If  the  beautiful  Aurelia  recalls  that  event, 
she  may  know  of  my  existence ;  not  other 
wise.  And  even  then  she  knows  me  only 
as  a  funny  old  gentleman,  who,  in  his  eager 
ness  to  look  at  her,  tumbled  over  an  apple- 
woman. 

19 


My  fancy  from  that  moment  followed  her. 
How  grateful  I  was  to  the  wrinkled  Eve's 
extortion,  and  to  the  untoward  tumble,  since 
it  procured  me  the  sight  of  that  smile.  I 
took  my  sweet  revenge  from  that.  For  I 
knew  that  the  beautiful  Aurelia  entered  the 
house  of  her  host  with  beaming  eyes,  and 
my  fancy  heard  her  sparkling  story.  You 
consider  yourself  happy  because  you  are 
sitting  by  her  and  helping  her  to  a  lady-fin 
ger,  or  a  macaroon,  for  which  she  smiles. 
But  I  was  her  theme  for  ten  mortal  minutes. 
She  was  my  bard,  my  blithe  historian.  She 
was  the  Homer  of  my  luckless  Trojan  fall. 
She  set  my  mishap  to  music,  in  telling  it. 
Think  what  it  is  to  have  inspired  Urania; 
to  have  called  a  brighter  beam  into  the  eyes 
of  Miranda,  and  do  not  think  so  much  of 
passing  Aurelia  the  mottoes,  my  dear  young 
friend. 

There  was  the  advantage  of  not  going  to 
that  dinner.  Had  I  been  invited,  as  you 
were,  I  should  have  pestered  Prue  about 
the  buttons  on  my  white  waistcoat,  instead 
of  leaving  her  placidly  piecing  adolescent 
trousers.  She  would  have  been  flustered, 
fearful  of  being  too  late,  of  tumbling  the 
garment,  of  soiling  it,  fearful  of  offending 
me  in  some  way  (admirable  woman !) ;  I,  in 
my  natural  impatience,  might  have  let  drop 
a  thoughtless  word,  which  would  have  been 


a  pang  in  her  heart  and  a  tear  in  her  eye 
for  weeks  afterwards. 

As  I  walked  nervously  up  the  Avenue  (for 
I  am  unaccustomed  to  prandial  recreations), 
I  should  not  have  had  that  solacing  image 
of  quiet  Prue  and  the  trousers  as  the  back 
ground  in  the  pictures  of  the  gay  figures  I 
passed,  making  each,  by  contrast,  fairer.  I 
should  have  been  wondering  what  to  say 
and  do  at  the  dinner.  I  should  surely  have 
been  very  warm,  and  yet  not  have  enjoyed 
the  rich,  waning  sunlight.  Need  I  tell  you 
that  I  should  not  have  stopped  for  apples, 
but  instead  of  economically  tumbling  into 
the  street  with  apples  and  apple -women, 
whereby  I  merely  rent  my  trousers  across 
the  knee,  in  a  manner  that  Prue  can  read 
ily,  and  at  little  cost,  repair,  I  should,  be 
yond  peradventure,  have  split  a  new  dollar- 
pair  of  gloves  in  the  effort  of  straining  my 
large  hands  into  them,  which  would,  also, 
have  caused  me  additional  redness  in  the 
face  and  renewed  fluttering. 

Above  all,  I  should  not  have  seen  Aure- 
lia  passing  in  her  carriage,  nor  would  she 
have  smiled  at  me,  nor  charmed  my  mem 
ory  with  her  radiance,  nor  the  circle  at  din 
ner  with  the  sparkling  Iliad  of  my  woes. 
Then  at  the  table,  I  should  not  have  sat  by 
her ;  you  would  have  had  that  pleasure.  I 
should  have  taken  out  the  maiden  aunt  from 


the  country,  and  have  talked  poultry,  when 
1  talked  at  all.  Aurelia  would  not  have  re 
marked  me.  Afterwards,  in  describing  the 
dinner  to  her  virtuous  parents,  she  would 
have  concluded,  "  and  one  old  gentleman, 
whom  I  didn't  know." 

No,  my  polished  friend,  whose 
elegant  repose  of  manner  I  yet 
greatly  commend,  I   am  con 
tent,  if  you  are.     How  much 
better  it  was  that  I  was  not 
invited   to    that    dinner,   but 
was  permitted,  by  a  kind 
fate,  to  furnish  a  subject 
for  Aurelia's  wit. 

There    is    one   other 
advantage    in    sending 
your   fancy   to    din 
ner  instead  of  going 
yourself.     It  is,  that 
then     the    occasion 
remains    wholly 
fair  in  your  mem 
ory.    You,  who  de 
vote    yourself    to 
dining    out,   and 
who    are    to   be 

daily  seen  affably  sitting  down  to  such 
feasts  as  I  know  mainly  by  hearsay — by 
the  report  of  waiters,  guests,  and  others 
who  were  present  —  you  cannot  escape  the 


little  things  that  spoil  the  picture,  and  which 
the  fancy  does  not  see. 

For  instance,  in  handing  you  the  potage  a 
la  Bisque  at  the  very  commencement  of  this 
dinner  to-day,  John,  the  waiter,  who  never 
did  such  a  thing  before,  did  this  time  suffer 
the  plate  to  tip,  so  that  a  little  of  that  rare 
soup  dripped  into  your  lap — just  enough 
to  spoil  those  trousers,  which  is  nothing  to 
you,  because  you  can  buy  a  great  many 
more  trousers,  but  which  little  event  is  in 
harmonious  with  the  fine  porcelain  dinner- 
service,  with  the  fragrant  wines,  the  glit 
tering  glass,  the  beautiful  guests,  and  the 
mood  of  mind  suggested  by  all  of  these. 
There  is,  in  fact,  if  you  will  pardon  a  free 
use  of  the  vernacular,  there  is  a  grease- 
spot  upon  your  remembrance  of  this  din 
ner. 

Or,  in  the  same  way,  and  with  the  same 
kind  of  mental  result,  you  can  easily  im 
agine  the  meats  a  little  tough ;  a  suspicion 
of  smoke  somewhere  in  the  sauces ;  too 
much  pepper,  perhaps,  or  too  little  salt;  or 
there  might  be  the  graver  dissonance  of 
claret  not  properly  attempered,  or  a  choice 
Rhenish  below  the  average  mark,  or  the 
spilling  of  some  of  that  Arethusa  Madeira, 
marvellous  for  its  innumerable  circumnavi 
gations  of  the  globe,  and  for  being  as  dry 
as  the  conversation  of  the  host.  These 
23 


things  are  not  up  to  the  high  level  of  the 
dinner;  for  wherever  Aurelia  dines,  all  ac 
cessaries  should  be  as  perfect  in  their  kind 
as  she,  the  principal,  is  in  hers. 

That  reminds  me  of  a  possible  dissonance 
worse  than  all.  Suppose  that  soup  had 
trickled  down  the  unimaginable  berthe  of 
Aurelia's  dress  (since  it  might  have  done 
so),  instead  of  wasting  itself  upon  your 
trousers  !  Could  even  the  irreproachable 
elegance  of  your  manners  have  contemplat 
ed,  unmoved,  a  grease -spot  upon  your  re 
membrance  of  the  peerless  Aurelia? 

You  smile,  of  course,  and  remind  me  that 
that  lady's  manners  are  so  perfect  that,  if 
she  drank  poison,  she  would  wipe  her  mouth 
after  it  as  gracefully  as  ever.  How  much 
more  then,  you  say,  in  the  case  of  such 
a  slight  contretemps  as  spotting  her  dress 
would  she  appear  totally  unmoved. 

So  she  would,  undoubtedly.  She  would 
be,  and  look,  as  pure  as  ever ;  but,  my 
young  friend,  her  dress  would  not.  Once 
I  dropped  a  pickled  oyster  in  the  lap  of  my 
Prue,  who  wore,  on  the  occasion,  her  sea- 
green  silk  gown.  I  did  not  love  my  Prue 
the  less ;  but  there  certainly  was  a  very  un 
handsome  spot  upon  her  dress.  And  al 
though  I  know  my  Prue  to  be  spotless,  yet, 
whenever  I  recall  that  clay,  I  see  her  in  a 
spotted  gown,  and  I  would  prefer  never  to 
24 


have  been  obliged  to  think  of  her  in  such  a 
garment. 

Can  you  not  make  the  application  to  the 
case  very  likely  to  happen,  of  some  disfig 
urement  of  that  exquisite 
toilet  of  Aurelia's  ?  In  go 
ing  down -stairs,  for  in 
stance,  why  should  not 
heavy  old  Mr.  Carbun 
cle,  who  is  coming  close 
behind  with  Mrs.  Pe 
ony,  both  very  eager 
for  dinner,  tread  upon 
the  hem  of  that  garment 
which  my  lips  would  grow 
pale  to  kiss  ?  The  august  Aurelia,  yield 
ing  to  natural  laws,  would  be  drawn  sud 
denly  backward  —  a  very  undignified  move 
ment — and  the  dress  would  be  dilapidated. 
There  would  be  apologies  and  smiles  and 
forgiveness  and  pinning  up  the  pieces,  nor 
would  there  be  the  faintest  feeling  of  awk 
wardness  or  vexation  in  Aurelia's  mind. 
But  to  you,  looking  on,  and,  beneath  all 
that  pure  show  of  waistcoat,  cursing  old 
Carbuncle's  carelessness,  this  tearing  of 
dresses  and  repair  of  the  toilet  is  by  no 
means  a  poetic  and  cheerful  spectacle. 
Nay,  the  very  impatience  that  it  produces 
in  your  mind  jars  upon  the  harmony  of  the 

moment. 

27 


You  will  respond,  with  proper  scorn,  that 
you  are  not  so  absurdly  fastidious  as  to 
heed  the  little  necessary  drawbacks  of  so 
cial  meetings,  and  that  you  have  not  much 
regard  for  "  the  harmony  of  the  occasion  " 
(which  phrase  I  fear  you  will  repeat  in  a 
sneering  tone).  You  will  do  very  right  in 
saying  this ;  and  it  is  a  remark  to  which  I 
shall  give  all  the  hospitality  of  my  mind, 
and  I  do  so  because  I  heartily  coincide  in 
it.  I  hold  a  man  to  be  very  foolish  who 
will  not  eat  a  good  dinner  because  the  ta 
ble-cloth  is  not  clean,  or  who  cavils  at  the 
spots  upon  the  sun.  But  still,  a  man  who 
does  not  apply  his  eye  to  a  telescope  or 
some  kind  of  prepared  medium  does  not 
see  those  spots,  while  he  has  just  as  much 
light  and  heat  as  he  who  does. 

So  it  is  with  me.  I  walk  in  the  Avenue 
and  eat  all  the  delightful  dinners  without 
seeing  the  spots  upon  the  table  -  cloth,  and 
behold  all  the  beautiful  Aurelias  without 
swearing  at  old  Carbuncle.  I  am  the  guest 
who,  for  the  small  price  of  invisibility, 
drinks  only  the  best  wines,  and  talks  only 
to  the  most  agreeable  people.  That  is 
something,  I  can  tell  you,  for  you  might  be 
asked  to  take  out  old  Mrs.  Peony.  My  fan 
cy  slips  in  between  you  and  Aurelia,  sit  you 
never  so  closely  together.  It  not  only  hears 
what  she  says,  but  it  perceives  what  she 
28 


thinks  and  feels.  It  lies  like  a  bee  in  her 
flowery  thoughts,  sucking  all  their  honey. 
If  there  are  unhandsome  or  unfeeling  guests 
at  table,  it  will  not  see  them.  It  knows  only 
the  good  and  fair.  As  I  stroll  in  the  fading 
light  and  observe  the  stately  houses,  my 
fancy  believes  the  host  equal  to  his  house, 
and  the  courtesy  of  his  wife  more  agreeable 
than  her  conservatory.  It  will  not  believe 
that  the  pictures  on  the  wall  and  the  stat 
ues  in  the  corners  shame  the  guests.  It 
will  not  allow  that  they  are  less  than  noble. 
It  hears  them  speak  gently  of  error,  and 
warmly  of  worth.  It  knows  that  they  com 
mend  heroism  and  devotion,  and  reprobate 
insincerity.  My  fancy  is  convinced  that  the 
guests  are  not  only  feasted  upon  the  choic 
est  fruits  of  every  land  and  season,  but 
are  refreshed  by  a  consciousness  of  greater 
loveliness  and  grace  in  human  character. 

Now  you,  who  actually  go  to  the  dinner, 
may  not  entirely  agree  with  the  view  my 
fancy  takes  of  that  entertainment.  Is  it 
not,  therefore,  rather  your  loss  ?  Or,  to 
put  it  in  another  way,  ought  I  to  envy  you 
the  discovery  that  the  guests  are  shamed 
by  the  statues  and  pictures — yes,  and  by 
the  spoons  and  forks  also,  if  they  should 
chance  neither  to  be  so  genuine  nor  so  use 
ful  as  those  instruments  ?  And,  worse  than 
this,  when  your  fancy  wishes  to  enjoy  the 
29 


picture  which  mine  forms  of  that  feast,  it 
cannot  do  so,  because  you  have  foolishly 
interpolated  the  fact  between  the  dinner 
and  your  fancy. 

Of  course  by  this  time  it  is  late  twilight, 
and  the  spectacle  I  enjoyed  is  almost  over. 
But  not  quite,  for  as  I  return  slowly  along 
the  streets,  the  windows  are  open,  and  only 
a  thin  haze  of  lace  or  muslin  separates  me 
from  the  Paradise  within. 

I  see  the  graceful  cluster  of  girls  hover 
ing  over  the  piano,  and  the  quiet  groups 
of  the  elders  in  easy  chairs,  around  little 
tables.  I  cannot  hear  what  is  said,  nor 
plainly  see  the  faces.  But  some  hoyden 
evening  wind,  more  daring  than  I,  abruptly 
parts  the  cloud  to  look  in,  and  out  comes  a 
gush  of  light,  music,  and  fragrance,  so  that 
I  shrink  away  into  the  dark,  that  I  may  not 
seem,  even  by  chance,  to  have  invaded  that 
privacy. 

Suddenly  there  is  singing.  It  is  Aurelia, 
who  does  not  cope  with  the  Italian  prima 
donna,  nor  sing  indifferently  to-night  what 
was  sung  superbly  last  evening  at  the  op 
era.  She  has  a  strange,  low,  sweet  voice, 
as  if  she  only  sang  in  the  twilight.  It  is 
the  ballad  of  "Allan  Percy"  that  she  sings. 
There  is  no  dainty  applause  of  kid  gloves, 
when  it  is  ended,  but  silence  follows  the 
singing  like  a  tear. 

3° 


Then  you,  my  young  friend,  ascend  into 
the  drawing-room,  and,  after  a  little  grace 
ful  gossip,  retire ;  or  you  wait,  possibly,  to 
hand  Aurelia  into  her  carriage,  and  to  ar 
range  a  waltz  for  to-morrow  evening.  She 
smiles,  you  bow,  and  it  is  over.  But  it  is 
not  yet  over  with  me.  My  fancy  still  fol 
lows  her,  and,  like  a  prophetic  dream,  re 
hearses  her  destiny.  For,  as  the  carriage 
rolls  away  into  the  darkness  and  I  return 
homeward,  how  can  my  fancy  help  rolling 
away  also  into  the  dim  future,  watching 
her  go  down  the  years  ? 

Upon  my  way  home  I  see  her  in  a  thou 
sand  new  situations.     My  fancy  says  to  me, 
"The  beauty  of  this  beautiful  woman  is 
Heaven's  stamp  upon  virtue.    She 
will  be  equal  to  every  chance 
that  shall  befall  her,  and  she 
is  so  radiant  and  charming  in 
the   circle  of  prosperity   only 
because  she  has  that  irresistible 
simplicity  and  fidelity  of  character 
which  can  also  pluck  the  sting 
from  adversity.   Do  you  not  see, 
you  wan  old 
book -keep-    < 

c      i       I 

er  in  laded  Hj 
cravat,  that  *' 
in    a  poor 
man's  house 


this  superb  Aurelia  would  be  more  stately 
than  sculpture,  more  beautiful  than  paint 
ing,  and  more  graceful  than  the  famous 
vases.  Would  her  husband  regret  the  op 
era  if  she  sang  '  Allan  Percy '  to  him  in  the 
twilight  ?  Would  he  not  feel  richer  than 
the  Poets  when  his  eyes  rose  from  their 
jewelled  pages,  to  fall  again  dazzled  by  the 
splendor  of  his  wife's  beauty?" 

At  this  point  in  my  reflections  I  some 
times  run,  rather  violently,  against  a  lamp 
post,  and  then  proceed  along  the  street 
more  sedately. 

It  is  yet  early  when  I  reach  home,  where 
my  Prue  awaits  me.  The  children  are 
asleep,  and  the  trousers  mended.  The  ad 
mirable  woman  is  patient  of  my  idiosyncra 
sies,  and  asks  me  if  J  have  had  a  pleasant 
walk,  and  if  there  were  many  fine  dinners 
to-day,  as  if  I  had  been  expected  at  a  dozen 
tables.  She  even  asks  me  if  I  have  seen 
the  beautiful  Aurelia  (for  there  is  always 
some  Aurelia),  and  inquires  what  dress  she 
wore.  I  respond,  and  dilate  upon  what  I 
have  seen.  Prue  listens,  as  the  children 
listen  to  her  fairy  tales.  We  discuss  the 
little  stories  that  penetrate  our  retirement 
of  the  great  people  who  actually  dine  out. 
Prue,  with  fine  womanly  instinct,  declares 
it  is  a  shame  that  Aurelia  should  smile 

for  a  moment  upon ,  yes,  even  upon 

32 


you,  my  friend  of  the  irreproachable  man 
ners  ! 

"I  know  him,"  says  my  simple  Prue;  "I 
have  watched  his  cold  courtesy,  his  insincere 
devotion.     I   have  seen  him   acting  in 
the  boxes  at  the  opera  much  more 
adroitly    than    the    singers    upon 
the    stage.     I   have   read 
his    determination    to 
marry  Aurelia;  and  I 
shall    not    be    sur 
prised,"   concludes     • 
my  tender    wife, 
sadly,    "  if    he 
wins    her    at 
last,    by    tiring 


her  out,  or, 
by  secluding 
her  with  his  constant  devo 
tion  from  the  homage   of  other  men,  con 
vinces  her  that  she  had  better  marry  him, 
since  it  is  so  dismal  to  live  on  unmarried." 
And  so,  my  friend,  at  the  moment  when 

33 


the  bouquet  you  ordered  is  arriving  at  Au- 
relia's  house,  and  she  is  sitting  before  the 
glass  while  her  maid  arranges  the  last  flow 
er  in  her  hair,  my  darling  Prue,  whom  you 
will  never  hear  of,  is  shedding  warm  tears 
over  your  probable  union,  and  I  am  sitting 
by,  adjusting  my  cravat  and  incontinently 
clearing  my  throat. 

It  is  rather  a  ridiculous  business,  I  allow, 
yet  you  will  smile  at  it  tenderly,  rather  than 
scornfully,  if  you  remember  that  it  shows 
how  closely  linked  we  human  creatures  are, 
without  knowing  it,  and  that  more  hearts 
than  we  dream  of  enjoy  our  happiness  and 
share  our  sorrow. 

Thus,  I  dine  at  great  tables  uninvited, 
and,  unknown,  converse  with  the  famous 
beauties.  If  Aurelia  is  at  last  betrothed  (but 
who  is  worthy  ?)  she  will,  with  even  great 
er  care,  arrange  that  wondrous  toilet,  will 
teach  that  lace  a  fall  more  alluring,  those 
gems  a  sweeter  light.  But  even  then,  as 
she  rolls  to  dinner  in  her  carriage,  glad  that 
she  is  fair,  not  for  her  own  sake  nor  for  the 
world's,  but  for  that  of  a  single  youth  (who, 
I  hope,  has  not  been  smoking  at  the  club  all 
the  morning),  I,  sauntering  upon  the  side 
walk,  see  her  pass,  I  pay  homage  to  her 
beauty,  and  her  lover  can  do  no  more  ;  and 
if,  perchance,  my  garments  —  which  must 
seem  quaint  to  her,  with  their  shining  knees 

34 


and  carefully  brushed  elbows ;  my  white 
cravat,  careless,  yet  prim ;  my  meditative 
movement,  as  I  put  my  stick  un 

der   my  arm  to  pare    an    ap 

ple,  and 


not,  I  hope,  this  time  to  fall  into  the  street — 
should  remind  her,  in  her  spring  of  youth 
and  beauty  and  love,  that  there  are  age  and 
care  and  poverty,  also  ;  then,  perhaps,  the 

35 


good-fortune  of  the  meeting  is  not  wholly 
mine. 

For,  O  beautiful  Aurelia,  two  of  these 
things,  at  least,  must  come  even  to  you. 
There  will  be  a  time  when  you  will  no  longer 
go  out  to  dinner,  or  only  very  quietly,  in  the 
family.  I  shall  be  gone  then ;  but  other  old 
book-keepers  in  white  cravats  will  inherit 
my  tastes,  and  saunter,  on  summer  after 
noons,  to  see  what  I  loved  to  see. 

They  will  not  pause,  I  fear,  in  buying  ap 
ples,  to  look  at  the  old  lady  in  venerable 
cap,  who  is  rolling  by  in  the  carriage.  They 
will  worship  another  Aurelia.  You  will  not 
wear  diamonds  or  opals  any  more,  only  one 
pearl  upon  your  blue -veined  finger — your 
engagement  ring.  Grave  clergymen  and 
antiquated  beaus  will  hand  you  down  to 
dinner,  and  the  group  of  polished  youth, 
who  gather  around  the  yet  unborn  Aurelia 
of  that  day,  will  look  at  you,  sitting  quietly 
upon  the  sofa,  and  say,  softly,  "  She  must 
have  been  very  handsome  in  her  time." 

All  this  must  be  ;  for  consider  how  few 
years  since  it  was  your  grandmother  who 
was  the  belle,  by  whose  side  the  handsome 
young  men  longed  to  sit  and  pass  expressive 
mottoes.  Your  grandmother  was  the  Au 
relia  of  a  half -century  ago,  although  you 
cannot  fancy  her  young.  She  is  indissolu- 
bly  associated  in  your  mind  with  caps  and 
36 


dark  dresses.  You  can  believe  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots,  or  Nell  Gwyn,  or  Cleopatra,  to 
have  been  young  and  blooming,  although 
they  belong  to  old  and  dead  centuries,  but 
not  your  grandmother.  Think  of  those  who 
shall  believe  the  same  of  you — you,  who  to 
day  are  the  very  flower  of  youth. 

Might  I  plead  with  you,  Aurelia — I,  who 
should  be  too  happy  to  receive  one  of  those 
graciously  beaming  bows  that  I  see  you  be 
stow  upon  young  men,  in  passing — I  would 
ask  you  to  bear  that  thought  with  you  al 
ways  :  not  to  sadden  your  sunny  smile,  but 
to  give  it  a  more  subtle  grace.  Wear  in 
your  summer  garland  this  little  leaf  of  rue. 
It  will  not  be  the  skull  at  the  feast,  it  will 
rather  be  the  tender  thoughtfulness  in  the 
face  of  the  young  Madonna. 

For  the  years  pass  like  summer  clouds, 
Aurelia,  and  the  children  of  yesterday  are 
the  wives  and  mothers  of  to-day.  Even  I 
do  sometimes  discover  the  mild  eyes  of  my 
Prue  fixed  pensively  upon  my  face,  as  if 
searching  for  the  bloom  which  she  remem 
bers  there  in  the  days,  long  ago,  when  we 
were  young.  She  will  never  see  it  there 
again,  any  more  than  the  flowers  she  held 
in  her  hand  in  our  old  spring  rambles.  Yet 
the  tear  that  slowly  gathers  as  she  gazes  is 
not  grief  that  the  bloom  has  faded  from  my 
cheek,  but  the  sweet  consciousness  that  it 

39 


can  never  fade  from  my  heart ;  and  as  her 
eyes  fall  upon  her  work  again,  or  the  chil 
dren  climb  her  lap  to  hear  the  old  fairy 
tales  they  already  know  by  heart,  my  wife 
Prue  is  dearer  to  me  than  the  sweetheart  of 
those  days  long  ago. 


MY  CHATEAUX 


/;/  Xanadu  did  KnWa  Khan 

A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree." 

—  COLERIDGE 


I  AM  the  owner  of 
great  estates.  Many 
of  them  lie  in  the 
west;  but  the  greater 

part  are  in  Spain.  You  may  see  my  west 
ern  possessions  any  evening  at  sunset,  when 
their  spires  and  battlements  flash  against 
the  horizon. 

It  gives  me  a  feeling  of  pardonable  im 
portance,  as  a  proprietor,  that  they  are  visi 
ble — to  my  eyes,  at  least — from  any  part  of 
the  world  in  which  I  chance  to  be.  In  my 
long  voyage  around  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
to  India  (the  only  voyage  I  ever  made, 
when  I  was  a  boy  and  a  supercargo),  if  I 
fell  homesick,  or  sank  into  a  reverie  of  all 

43 


the  pleasant  homes  I  had  left  behind,  I  had 
but  to  wait  until  sunset,  and,  then  looking 
towards  the  west,  I  beheld  my  clustering 
pinnacles  and  towers  brightly  burnished,  as 
if  to  salute  and  welcome  me. 

So,  in  the  city,  if  I  get  vexed  and  wearied, 
and  cannot  find  my  wonted  solace  in  sally 
ing  forth  at  dinner-time  to  contemplate  the 
gay  world  of  youth  and  beauty  hurrying  to 
the  congress  of  fashion,  or  if  I  observe  that 
years  are  deepening  their  tracks  around 
the  eyes  of  my  wife,  Prue,  I  go  quietly  up 
to  the  house-top,  towards  evening,  and  re 
fresh  myself  with  a  distant  prospect  of  my 
estates.  It  is  as  dear  to  me  as  that  of  Eton 
to  the  poet  Gray ;  and  if  I  sometimes  won 
der  at  such  moments  whether  I  shall  find 
those  realms  as  fair  as  they  appear,  I  am 
suddenly  reminded  that  the  night  air  may 
be  noxious,  and,  descending,  I  enter  the 
little  parlor  where  Prue  sits  stitching,  and 
surprise  that  precious  woman  by  exclaiming, 
with  the  poet's  pensive  enthusiasm : 

"  Thought  would  destroy  their  Paradise. 

No  more  ;  where  ignorance  is  bliss, 

'Tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

Columbus,  also,  had  possessions  in  the 
west ;  and  as  I  read  aloud  the  romantic 
story  of  his  life,  my  voice  quivers  when  I 


come  to  the  point  in  which  it  is  related  that 
sweet  odors  of  the  land  mingled  with  the 
sea- air  as  the  admiral's  fleet  approached 
the  shores ;  that  tropical  birds  flew  out  and 
fluttered  around  the  ships,  glittering  in  the 
sun,  the  gorgeous  promises  of  the  new 
country;  that  boughs,  perhaps  with  blos 
soms  not  all  decayed,  floated  out  to  welcome 
the  strange  wood  from  which  the  craft  were 
hollowed.  Then  I  can 
not  restrain  myself.  I 
think  of  the  gorgeous  vi 
sions  I  have  seen  before 
I  have  even  undertaken 
the  journey  to  the  west, 
and  I  cry  aloud  to  Prue : 

"What  sun -bright 
birds,  and  gorgeous  blos 
soms,  and  celestial  odors 
will  float  out  to  us,  my 
Prue,  as  we  approach  our 
western  possessions !" 

The  placid  Prue  raises  her  eyes  to  mine 
with  a  reproof  so  delicate  that  it  could  not 
be  trusted  to  words  ;  and,  after  a  moment, 
she  resumes  her  knitting,  and  I  proceed. 

These  are  my  western  estates,  but  my 
finest  castles  are  in  Spain.  It  is  a  country 
famously  romantic,  and  my  castles  are  all  of 
perfect  proportions,  and  appropriately  set 
in  the  most  picturesque  situations.  I  have 

45 


never  been  to  Spain  myself,  but  I  have  nat 
urally  conversed  much  with  travellers  to  that 
country ;  although,  I  must  allow,  without  de 
riving  from  them  much  substantial  informa 
tion  about  my  property  there.  The  wisest 
of  them  told  me  that  there  were  more  hold 
ers  of  real  estate  in  Spain  than  in  any  other 
region  he  had  ever  heard  of,  and  they  are  all 
great  proprietors.  Every  one  of  them  pos 
sesses  a  multitude  of  the  stateliest  castles. 
From  conversation  with  them  you  easily 
gather  that  each  one  considers  his  own  cas 
tles  much  the  largest  and  in  the  loveliest 
positions.  And,  after  I  had  heard  this  said, 
I  verified  it  by  discovering  that  all  my  im 
mediate  neighbors  in  the  city  were  great 
Spanish  proprietors. 

One  day  as  I  raised  my  head  from  enter 
ing  some  long  and  tedious  accounts  in  my 
books,  and  began  to  reflect  that  the  quarter 
was  expiring,  and  that  I  must  begin  to  pre 
pare  the  balance-sheet,  I  observed  my  sub 
ordinate — in  office,  but  not  in  years  (for  poor 
old  Titbottom  will  never  see  sixty  again  !) — 
leaning  on  his  hand,  and  much  abstracted. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Titbottom  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Perfectly,  but  I  was  just  building  a  castle 
in  Spain,"  said  he. 

I  looked  at  his  rusty  coat,  his  faded  hands, 
his  sad  eyes,  and  white  hair  for  a  moment 
in  great  surprise,  and  then  inquired, 
46 


"  Is  it  possible  that  you 
own  property  there,  too  ?" 
He   shook  his   head   silently; 
and    still,  leaning  on   his    hand, 
and  with  an  expression  in  his  eye 
.as  if  he  were  looking  upon  the 
most  fertile  estate  of  Andalusia, 
he  went  on  making  his  plans  :  laying  out  his 
gardens,  I  suppose,  building  terraces  for  the 
vines,  determining  a  library  with  a  southern 
exposure,  and  resolving  which  should  be  the 
tapestried  chamber. 

"  What  a  singular  whim,"  thought  I,  as 
I  watched  Titbottom  and  filled  up  a  check 
for  $400,  my  quarterly  salary,  "that  a  man 


who  owns  castles  in  Spain  should  be  deputy 
book-keeper  at  $900  a  year !" 

When  I  went  home  I  ate  my  dinner  silent 
ly,  and  afterwards  sat  for  a  long  time  upon 
the  roof  of  the  house,  looking  at  my  west 
ern  property,  and  thinking  of  Titbottom. 

It  is  remarkable  that  none  of  the  pro 
prietors  have  ever  been  to  Spain  to  take  pos 
session,  and  report  to  the  rest  of  us  the  state 
of  our  property  there.  I,  of  course,  cannot 
go;  I  am  too  much  engaged.  So  is  Tit- 
bottom.  And  I  find  it  is  the  case  with  all 
the  proprietors.  We  have  so  much  to  de 
tain  us  at  home  that  we  cannot  get  away. 
But  it  is  always  so  with  rich  men.  Prue 
sighed  once  as  she  sat  at  the  window  and 
saw  Bourne,  the  millionaire,  the  president 
of  innumerable  companies,  and  manager 
and  director  of  all  the  charitable  societies 
in  town,  going  by  with  wrinkled  brow  and 
hurried  step.  I  asked  her  why  she  sighed. 

"Because  I  was  remembering  that  my 
mother  used  to  tell  me  not  to  desire  great 
riches,  for  they  occasioned  great  cares,"  said 
she. 

"  They  do  indeed,"  answered  I,  with  em 
phasis,  remembering  Titbottom,  and  the  im 
possibility  of  looking  after  my  Spanish  es 
tates. 

Prue  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  mild 
surprise ;  but  I  saw  that  her  mind  had  gone 
48 


down  the  street  with  Bourne.  I  could  never 
discover  if  he  held  much  Spanish  stock. 
But  I  think  he  does.  All  the  Spanish  pro 
prietors  have  a  certain  expression.  Bourne 
has  it  to  a  remarkable  degree.  It  is  a  kind 
of  look  as  if — in  fact,  as  if  a  man's  mind 
were  in  Spain.  Bourne  was  an  old  lover 
of  Prue's,  and  he  is  not  married,  which  is 
strange  for  a  man  in  his  position. 

It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  say  how  I  know 
so  much,  as  I  certainly  do,  about  my  castles 
in  Spain.  The  sun  always  shines  upon 
them.  They  stand  lofty  and  fair  in  a  lumi 
nous,  golden  atmosphere — a  little  hazy  and 
dreamy,  perhaps,  like  the  Indian -summer, 
but  in  which  no  gales  blow  and  there  are 
no  tempests.  All  the  lofty  mountains  and 
beautiful  valleys  and  soft  landscape  that  I 
have  not  yet  seen  are  to  be  found  in  the 
grounds.  They  command  a  noble  view  of 
the  Alps — so  fine,  indeed,  that  I  should  be 
quite  content  with  the  prospect  of  them 
from  the  highest  tower  of  my  castle,  and  not 
care  to  go  to  Switzerland. 

The  neighboring  ruins,  too,  are  as  pictu 
resque  as  those  of  Italy,  and  my  desire  of 
standing  in  the  Colosseum,  and  of  seeing  the 
shattered  arches  of  the  Aqueducts  stretch 
ing  along  the  Campagna  and  melting  into 
the  Alban  Mount,  is  entirely  quenched.  The 
rich  gloom  of  my  orange  groves  is  gilded  by 

49 


fruit  as  brilliant  of  complexion  and  exquisite 
of  flavor  as  any  that  ever  dark -eyed  Sor 
rento  girls,  looking  over  the  high  plastered 
walls  of  southern  Italy,  hand  to  the  youthful 
travellers,  climbing  on  donkeys  up  the  nar 
row  lane  beneath. 

The  Nile  flows  through  my  grounds.  The 
Desert  lies  upon  their  edge,  and  Damascus 
stands  in  my  garden.  I  am  given  to  under 
stand,  also,  that  the  Parthenon  has  been 
removed  to  my  Spanish  possessions.  The 
Golden  Horn  is  my  fish-preserve  ;  my  flocks 
of  golden  fleece  are  pastured  on  the  plain 
of  Marathon,  and  the  honey  of  Hymettus 
is  distilled  from  the  flowers  that  grow  in  the 
vale  of  Enna — all  in  my  Spanish  domains. 

From  the  windows  of  those  castles  look 
the  beautiful  women  whom  I  have  never 
seen,  whose  portraits  the  poets  have  paint 
ed.  They  wait  for  me  there,  and  chiefly 
the  fair-haired  child,  lost  to  my  eyes  so  long 
ago,  now  bloomed  into  an  impossible  beau 
ty,,  The  lights  that  never  shone  glance  at 
evening  in  the  vaulted  halls  upon  banquets 
that  were  never  spread.  The  bands  I  have 
never  collected  play  all  night  long,  and  en 
chant  into  silence  the  brilliant  company  that 
was  never  assembled.  In  the  long  summer 
mornings  the  children  that  I  never  had  play 
in  the  gardens  that  I  never  planted.  I  hear 
their  sweet  voices,  sounding  low  and  far 


away,  calling  "  Father  !  father  !"  I  see  the 
lost  fair-haired  girl,  grown  now  into  a  wom 
an,  descending  the  stately  stairs  of  my  castle 
in  Spain,  stepping  out  upon  the  lawn,  and 
playing  with  those  children.  They  bound 
away  together  down  the  garden ;  but  those 
voices  linger,  this  time  airily  call 
ing,  "  Mother  !  mother  !" 
But  there  is  a  stranger 
magic  than  this  in  my 
Spanish  estates. 


slopes  on  which, 
:::.      when   a   child,  I 
played  in  my  fa 
ther's    old    coun 
try  place,  which  was  sold 
when   he  failed,  are   all    there,  and   not   a 
flower  faded  nor  a  blade  of  grass  sere.    The 
green  leaves  have  not  fallen  from  the  spring 
woods  of  half  a  century  ago,  and  a  gorgeous 
autumn  has  blazed  undimmed  for  fifty  years 
among  the  trees  that  I  remember. 
51 


Chestnuts  are  not  especially  sweet  to  my 
palate  now,  but  those  with  which  I  used  to 
prick  my  fingers  when  gathering  them  in 
New  Hampshire  woods  are  exquisite  as  ever 
to  my  taste  when  I  think  of  eating  them 
in  Spain.  I  never  ride  horseback  now  at 
home ;  but  in  Spain,  when  I  think  of  it,  I 
bound  over  all  the  fences  in  the  country, 
barebacked,  upon  the  wildest  horses.  Ser 
mons  I  am  apt  to  find  a  little  soporific  in 
this  country;  but  in  Spain  I  should  listen 
as  reverently  as  ever,  for  proprietors  must 
set  a  good  example  on  their  estates. 

Plays  are  insufferable  to  me  here — Prue 
and  I  never  go.  Prue,  indeed,  is  not  quite 
sure  it  is  moral ;  but  the  theatres  in  my 
Spanish  castles  are  of  a  prodigious  splen 
dor,  and  when  I  think  of  going  there  Prue 
sits  in  a  front  box  with  me — a  kind  of  royal 
box — the  good  woman  attired  in  such  wise 
as  I  have  never  seen  her  here,  while  I  wear 
my  white  waistcoat,  which  in  Spain  has  no 
appearance  of  mending,  but  dazzles  with 
immortal  newness,  and  is  a  miraculous  fit. 

Yes ;  and  in  those  castles  in  Spain,  Prue 
is  not  the  placid,  breeches -patching  help 
mate  with  whom  you  are  acquainted,  but 
her  face  has  a  bloom  which  we  both  remem 
ber,  and  her  movement  a  grace  which  my 
Spanish  swans  emulate,  and  her  voice  a  mu 
sic  sweeter  than  those  that  orchestras  dis- 
52 


course.    She 
is  always  there 
what  she  seemed 
to  me  when  I  fell 
in  love  with  her  many 
and  many  years  ago. 
The  neighbors  called 
her  then  a  nice,  capa 
ble  girl;  and  certainly  she 
did  knit  and  dam  with  a 
zeal  and  success  to  which  my 
feet  and  my  legs  have  testi 
fied  for  nearly  half  a  century. 
But  she  could    spin   a  finer 
web  than  ever  came   from  cot 
ton,  and  in  its  subtle  meshes  my 
heart  was  entangled,  and  there  has 
reposed   softly  and    happily  ever 
since.     The  neighbors  declared  she 
could  make  pudding  and  cake  better  than 


any  girl  of  her  age ;  but  stale  bread  from 
Prue's  hand  was  ambrosia  to  my  palate. 

"  She  who  makes  everything  well,  even 
to  making  neighbors  speak  well  of  her,  will 
surely  make  a  good  wife,"  said  I  to  myself 
when  I  knew  her ;  and  the  echo  of  a  half 
century  answers,  "a  good  wife." 

So,  when  I  meditate  my  Spanish  castles, 
I  see  Prue  in  them  as  my  heart  saw  her 
standing  by  her  father's  door.  "  Age  can 
not  wither  her."  There  is  a  magic  in  the 
Spanish  air  that  paralyzes  Time.  He  glides 
by,  unnoticed  and  unnoticing.  I  greatly  ad 
mire  the  Alps,  which  I  see  so  distinctly  from 
my  Spanish  windows  ;  I  delight  in  the  taste 
of  the  southern  fruit  that  ripens  upon  my 
terraces;  I  enjoy  the  pensive  shade  of  the 
Italian  ruins  in  my  gardens  ;  I  like  to  shoot 
crocodiles,  and  talk  with  the  Sphinx  upon 
the  shores  of  the  Nile,  flowing  through  my 
domain ;  I  am  glad  to  drink  sherbet  in  Da 
mascus,  and  fleece  my  flocks  on  the  plains 
of  Marathon ;  but  I  would  resign  all  these 
forever  rather  than  part  with  that  Spanish 
portrait  of  Prue  for  a  day.  Nay,  have  I  not 
resigned  them  all  forever,  to  live  with  that 
portrait's  changing  original  ? 

I  have  often  wondered  how  I  should  reach 
my  castles.  The  desire  of  going  comes  over 
me  very  strongly  sometimes,  and  I  endeavor 
to  see  how  I  can  arrange  my  affairs  so  as  to 

54 


get  away.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  not  quite 
sure  of  the  route — I  mean,  to  that  particu 
lar  part  of  Spain  in  which  my  estates  lie.  I 
have  inquired  very  particularly,  but  nobody 
seems  to  know  precisely.  One  morning  I 
met  young  Aspen,  trembling  with  excite 
ment. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  asked 
I,  with   interest,  for  I  knew 
that  he   held  a  great   deal 
of  Spanish  stock. 

"  Oh  !"  said    he,  "  I'm 
going  out  to  take  pos 
session.    I  have  found 
the  way  to  my  castles 
in  Spain." 

"Dear  me!"  I 
answered,  with  the 
blood  streaming 
into  my  face  ;  and, 
heedless  of  Prue, 
pulling  my  glove 
until  it  ripped — "what  is  it?" 

"  The  direct  route  is  through  California," 
answered  he. 

"  But  then  you  have  the  sea  to  cross  af 
terwards,"  said  I,  remembering  the  map. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Aspen ;  "  the  road 
runs  along  the  shore  of  the  Sacramento 
River." 

He  darted  away  from  me,  and  I  did  not 

55 


meet  him  again.  I  was  very  curious  to  know 
if  he  arrived  safely  in  Spain,  and  was  ex 
pecting  every  day  to  hear  news  from  him 
of  my  property  there,  when  one  evening  I 
bought  an  extra  full  of  California  news,  and 
the  first  thing  upon  which  my  eye  fell  was 
this  :  "  Died,  in  San  Francisco,  Edward 
Aspen,  Esq.,  aged  35."  There  is  a  large 
body  of  the  Spanish  stockholders  who  be 
lieve  with  Aspen,  and  sail  for  California  ev 
ery  week.  I  have  not  yet  heard  of  their 
arrival  out  at  their  castles,  but  I  suppose 
they  are  so  busy  with  their  own  affairs  there 
that  they  have  no  time  to  write  to  the  rest 
of  us  about  the  condition  of  our  property. 

There  was  my  wife's  cousin,  too,  Jona 
than  Bud,  who  is  a  good,  honest  youth  from 
the  country,  and,  after  a  few  weeks'  absence, 
he  burst  into  the  office  one  day,  just  as  I 
was  balancing  my  books,  and  whispered  to 
me,  eagerly, 

"  I've  found  my  castle  in  Spain." 

I  put  the  blotting-paper  in  the  leaf  delib 
erately,  for  I  was  wiser  now  than  when  As 
pen  had  excited  me,  and  looked  at  my  wife's 
cousin,  Jonathan  Bud,  inquiringly. 

"  Polly  Bacon,"  whispered  he,  winking. 

I  continued  the  interrogative  glance. 

"  She's  going  to  marry  me,  and  she'll 
show  me  the  way  to  Spain,"  said  Jonathan 
Bud,  hilariously. 

56 


"  She'll  make  you  walk  Spanish,  Jonathan 
Bud/'  said  I. 

And  so  she  does.  He  makes  no  more 
hilarious  remarks.  He  never  bursts  into  a 
room.  He  does  not  ask  us  to  dinner.  He 
says  that  Mrs.  Bud  does  not  like  smoking. 
Mrs.  Bud  has  nerves  and  babies.  She  has 
a  way  of  saying,  "Mr.  Bud  !"  which  destroys 
conversation,  and  casts  a  gloom  upon  so 
ciety. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  Bourne,  the  mill 
ionaire,  must  have  ascertained  the  safest 
and  most  expeditious  route  to  Spain  ;  so  I 
stole  a  few  minutes  one  afternoon,  and  went 
into  his  office.  He  was  sitting  at  his  desk, 
writing  rapidly,  and  surrounded  by  files  of 
papers  and  patterns,  specimens,  boxes — ev 
erything  that  covers  the  tables  of  a  great 
merchant.  In  the  outer  rooms  clerks  were 
writing.  Upon  high  shelves  over  their  heads 
were  huge  chests,  covered  with  dust,  dingy 
with  age,  many  of  them,  and  all  marked  with 
the  name  of  the  firm,  in  large  black  letters, 
"  Bourne  &  Dye."  They  were  all  numbered, 
also,  with  the  proper  year;  some  of  them 
with  a  single  capital  B,  and  dates  extending 
back  into  the  last  century,  when  old  Bourne 
made  the  great  fortune,  before  he  went  into 
partnership  with  Dye.  Everything  was  in 
dicative  of  immense  and  increasing  pros 
perity. 

57 


There  were  several  gentlemen  in  waiting 
to  converse  with  Bourne  (we  all  call  him  so, 
familiarly,  down -town),  and  I  waited  until 
they  went  out.  But  others  came  in.  There 
was  no  pause  in  the  rush.  All 
kinds  of  inquiries  were  made 
and  answered.  At  length  I 
stepped  up. 

"A  moment,  please,  Mr. 
Bourne." 

He  looked  up  hastily,  wished 
me    good  -  morning,   which    he 
had  done  to  none  of  the  oth 
ers,  and    which    courtesy    I 
attributed  to  Spanish  sym- 
pathy. 

"What  is  it,  sir?"  he  asked, 
blandly,  but  with  wrinkled  brow. 
"Mr.  Bourne,  have  you  any 
castles  in  Spain  ?"  said  I,  with 
out  preface. 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  few 
moments  without  speaking,  and 
without    seeming    to    see    me. 
His  brow  gradually  smoothed,  and 
his  eyes,  apparently  looking  into  the 
street,  were  really,  I  have  no  doubt, 
feasting  upon  the  Spanish  landscape. 

"Too  many,  too  many,"  said  he  at  length, 
musingly,  shaking  his  head,  and  without  ad 
dressing  me. 

.58 


I  suppose  he  felt  himself  too  much  ex 
tended,  as  we  say  in  Wall  Street.  He 
feared,  I  thought,  that  he  had  too  much 
impracticable  property  elsewhere,  to  own  so 
much  in  Spain  ;  so  I  asked  : 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  consider 
the  shortest  and  safest  route  thither,  Mr. 
Bourne  ?  for,  of  course,  a  man  who  drives 
such  an  immense  trade  with  all  parts  of  the 
world  will  know  all  that  I  have  come  to  in 
quire." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  answered  he,  wearily,  "  I 
have  been  trying  all  my  life  to  discover  it; 
but  none  of  my  ships  have  ever  been  there  j 
none  of  my  captains  have  any  report  to 
make.  They  bring  me,  as  they  brought 
my  father,  gold-dust  from  Guinea;  ivory, 
pearls,  and  precious  stones  from  every  part 
of  the  earth ;  but  not  a  fruit,  not  a  solitary 
flower,  from  one  of  my  castles  in  Spain.  I 
have  sent  clerks,  agents,  and  travellers  of 
all  kinds,  philosophers,  pleasure  -  hunters, 
and  invalids,  in  all  sorts  of  ships,  to  all 
sorts  of  places,  but  none  of  them  ever  saw 
or  heard  of  my  castles,  except  one  young 
poet,  and  he  died  in  a  mad -house." 

"  Mr.  Bourne,  will  you  take  five  thousand 
at  ninety-seven  ?"  hastily  demanded  a  man, 
whom,  as  he  entered,  I  recognized  as  a 
broker.  "We'll  make  a  splendid  thing  of 


59 


Bourne  nodded  assent,  and  the  broker 
disappeared. 

"  Happy  man !"  muttered  the  merchant, 
as  the  broker  went  out;  "he  has  no  castles 
in  Spain." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,  Mr. 
Bourne,"  said  I,  retiring. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,"  returned  he ; 
"but  I  assure  you,  had  I  known  the  route 
you  hoped  to  ascertain  from  me,  I  should 
have  sailed  years  and  years  ago.  People 
sail  for  the  North-west  Passage,  which  is 
.  nothing  when  you  have  found  it.  Why 
don't  the  English  Admiralty  fit  out  expedi 
tions  to  discover  all  our  castles  in  Spain  ?" 

He  sat  lost  in  thought. 

"  It's  nearly  post-time,  sir,"  said  the  clerk. 

Mr.  Bourne  did  not  heed  him.  He  was 
still  musing;  and  I  turned  to  go,  wishing 
him  good -morning.  When  I  had  nearly 
reached  the  door,  he  called  me  back,  saying, 
as  if  continuing  his  remarks  : 

"  It  is  strange  that  you,  of  all  men,  should 
come  to  ask  me  this  question.  If  I  envy 
any  man,  it  is  you,  for  I  sincerely  assure 
you  that  I  supposed  you  lived  altogether 
upon  your  Spanish  estates.  I  once  thought 
I  knew  the  way  to  mine.  I  gave  directions 
for  furnishing  them,  and  ordered  bridal  bou 
quets,  which  were  never  used,  but  I  sup 
pose  they  are  there  still." 
60 


He  paused  a  moment,  then  said,  slowly, 

"  How  is  your  wife  ?" 

I  told  him  that  Prue  was  well — that  she 
was  always  remarkably  well.  Mr.  Bourne 
shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  said  he.  "Good -morn 
ing." 

I  know  why  he  thanked  me  ;  I  knew  why 
he  thought  that  I  lived  altogether  upon  my 
Spanish  estates ;  I  knew  a  little  bit  about 
those  bridal  bouquets.  Mr.  Bourne,  the  mill 
ionaire,  was  an  old  lover  of  Prue's.  There 
is  something  very  odd  about  these  Spanish 
castles.  When  I  think  of  them,  I  somehow 
see  the  fair-haired  girl  whom  I  knew  when 
I  was  not  out  of  short  jackets.  When 
Bourne  meditates  them,  he  sees  Prue  and 
me  quietly  at  home  in  their  best  chambers. 
It  is  a  very  singular  thing  that  my  wife 
should  live  in  another  man's  castle  in  Spain. 

At  length  I  resolved  to  ask  Titbottom  if 
he  had  ever  heard  of  the  best  route  to  our 
estates.      He   said  that  he  owned  castles, 
and  sometimes  there  was  an  expres 
sion  in  his  face  as  if  he  saw  them. 
I  hope  he  did.    I  should  long  ago 
have    asked    him    if 
he  had  ever  observed 
the  turrets  of  my  pos 
sessions  in  the  west, 
without    alluding    to 


Spain,  if  I  had  not  feared  he  would  sup 
pose  I  was  mocking  his  poverty.  I  hope 
his  poverty  has  not  turned  his  head,  for  he 
is  very  forlorn. 

One  Sunday  I  went  with  him  a  few  miles 
into  the  country.  It  was  a  soft,  bright  day ; 
the  fields  and  hills  lay  turned  to  the  sky,  as 
if  every  leaf  and  blade  of  grass  were  nerves 
bared  to  the  touch  of  the  sun.  I  almost 
felt  the  ground  warm  under  my  feet.  The 
meadows  waved  and  glittered,  the  lights 
and  shadows  were  exquisite,  and  the  distant 
hills  seemed  only  to  remove  the  horizon 
farther  away.  As  we  strolled  along,  picking 
wildflowers,  for  it  was  in  summer,  I  was 
thinking  what  a  fine  day  it  was  for  a  trip 
to  Spain,  when  Titbottom  suddenly  ex 
claimed, 

"  Thank  God  !  I  own  this  landscape." 

"  You  !"  returned  I. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he. 

"  Why,"  I  answered,  "  I  thought  this  was 
part  of  Bourne's  property  ?" 

Titbottom  smiled. 

"Does  Bourne  own  the  sun  and  sky? 
Does  Bourne  own  that  sailing  shadow  yon 
der  ?  Does  Bourne  own  the  golden  lustre 
of  the  grain,  or  the  motion  of  the  wood,  or 
those  ghosts  of  hills  that  glide  pallid  along 
the  horizon  ?  Bourne  owns  the  dirt  and 

fences  ;  I  own  the  beauty  that  makes  the 

62 


landscape,  or  otherwise  how  could  I  own 
castles  in  Spain  ?" 

That  was  very  true.  I  respected  Tit- 
bottom  more  than  ever. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  after  a  long 
pause,  "that  I  fancy  my  castles  lie  just  be 
yond  those  distant  hills.  At  all  events,  I 
can  see  them  distinctly  from  their  summits." 

He  smiled  quietly  as  he  spoke,  and  it  was 
then  I  asked  : 

"  But,  Titbottom,  have  you  never  dis 
covered  the  way  to  them  ?" 

"  Dear  me  !  yes,"  answered  he,  "  I  know 
the  way  well  enough ;  but  it  would  do  no 
good  to  follow  it.  I  should  give  out  before 
I  arrived.  It  is  a  long  and  difficult  journey 
for  a  man  of  my  years  and  habits — and  in 
come,"  he  added,  slowly. 

As  he  spoke  he  seated  himself  upon  the 
ground ;  and  while  he  pulled  long  blades  of 
grass,  and,  putting  them  between  his  thumbs, 
whistled  shrilly,  he  said  : 

"  I  have  never  known  but  two  men  who 
reached  their  estates  in  Spain." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  I.     "  How  did  they  go  ?" 

"  One  went  over  the  side  of  a  ship,  and 
the  other  out  of  a  third-story  window,"  said 
Titbottom,  fitting  a  broad  blade  between  his 
thumbs  and  blowing  a  demoniacal  blast. 

"  And  I  know  one  proprietor  who  resides 
upon  his  estates  constantly,"  continued  he. 
65 


"  Who  is  that  ?" 

"  Our  old  friend  Slug,  whom  you  may  see 
any  day  at  the  asylum,  just  coming  in  from 
the  hunt,  or  going  to  call  upon  his  friend 
the  Grand  Lama,  or  dressing  for  the  wed 
ding  of  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  or  receiving 
an  ambassador  from  Timbuctoo.  When 
ever  I  go  to  see  him,  Slug  insists  that  I  am 
the  Pope,  disguised  as  a  journeyman  car 
penter,  and  he  entertains  me  in  the  most 
distinguished  manner.  He  always  insists 
upon  kissing  my  foot,  and  I  bestow  upon 
him,  kneeling,  the  apostolic  benediction. 
He  is  the  only  Spanish  proprietor  in  pos 
session  with  whom  I  am  acquainted." 

And,  so  saying,  Titbottom  lay  back  upon 
the  ground,  and  making  a  spy-glass  of  his 
hand,  surveyed  the  landscape  through  it. 
This  was  a  marvellous  book-keeper  of  more 
than  sixty  ! 

"  I  know  another  man  who  lived  in  his 
Spanish  castle  for  two  months,  and  then 
was  tumbled  out  head-first.  That  was 
young  Stunning,  who  married  old  Buhl's 
daughter.  She  was  all  smiles,  and  mamma 
was  all  sugar,  and  Stunning  was  all  bliss— 
for  two  months.  He  carried  his  head  in  the 
clouds,  and  felicity  absolutely  foamed  at  his 
eyes.  He  was  drowned  in  love ;  seeing,  as 
usual,  not  what  really  was,  but  what  he  fan 
cied.  He  lived  so  exclusively  in  his  castle 

66 


that  he  forgot  the  office  down-town,  and  one 
morning  there  came  a  fall,  and  Stunning 
was  smashed." 

Titbottom  arose,  and  stooping  over,  con 
templated  the  landscape,  with  his  head  down 
between  his  legs. 

"  It's  quite  a  new  effect,  so,"  said  the 
nimble  book-keeper. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  Stunning  failed  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  smashed  all  up,  and  the  castle 
in  Spain  came  down  about  his  ears  with  a 
tremendous  crash.  The  family  sugar  was 
all  dissolved  into  the  original  cane  in  a  mo 
ment.  Fairy -times  are  over,  are  they? 
Heigh-ho  !  the  falling  stones  of  Stunning's 
castle  have  left  their  marks  all  over  his  face. 
I  call  them  his  Spanish  scars." 

"But,  my  dear  Titbottom,"  said  I, 
"  what  is   the  matter  with  you  this 
morning  ?   Your  usual  sedateness  is 
quite  gone." 

"  It's  only  the  exhilarating  air 
of  Spain,"  he   answered. 
"  My  castles  are  so 
beautiful    that 
I    can    never 
think  of  them, 
nor   speak   of 
them,  without 
excitement ; 
when     I    was 


younger  I  desired  to  reach  them  even  more 
ardently  than  now,  because  I  heard  that  the 
philosopher's  stone  was  in  the  vault  of  one 
of  them." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  I,  yielding  to  sympathy; 
"  and  I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that 
the  fountain  of  eternal  youth  flows  through 
the  garden  of  one  of  mine.  Do  you  know 
whether  there  are  any  children  upon  your 
grounds  ?" 

"  '  The  children  of  Alice  call  Bartrum 
father !' "  replied  Titbottom,  solemnly,  and 
in  a  low  voice,  as  he  folded  his  faded  hands 
before  him  and  stood  erect,  looking  wist 
fully  over  the  landscape.  The  light  wind 
played  with  his  thin  white  hair,  and  his  sober 
black  suit  was  almost  sombre  in  the  sun 
shine.  The  half  bitter  expression,  which  I 
had  remarked  upon  his  face  during  part  of 
our  conversation  had  passed  away,  and  the 
old  sadness  had  returned  to  his  eyes.  He 
stood  in  the  pleasant  morning  the  very 
image  of  a  great  proprietor  of  castles  in 
Spain. 

"  There  is  wonderful  music  there,"  he 
said  ;  "  sometimes  I  awake  at  night  and  hear 
it.  It  is  full  of  the  sweetness  of  youth  and 
love  and  a  new  world.  I  lie  and  listen, 
and  I  seem  to  arrive  at  the  great  gates  of 
my  estates.  They  swing  open  upon  noise 
less  hinges,  and  the  tropic  of  my  dreams 

68 


receives  me.  Up  the  broad  steps,  whose 
marble  pavement  mingled  light  and  shadow 
print  with  shifting  mosaic,  beneath  the 
boughs  of  lustrous  oleanders  and  palms 
and  trees  of  unimaginable  fragrance,  I  pass 
into  the  vestibule,  warm  with  summer  odors, 
and  into  the  presence-chamber  beyond, 
where  my  wife  awaits  me.  But  castle  and 
wife  and  odorous  woods  and  pictures  and 
statues,  and  all  the  bright  substance  of  my 
household,  seem  to  reel  and  glimmer  in  the 
splendor  as  the  music  fails. 

"  But  when  it  swells  again  I  clasp  the 
wife  to  my  heart,  and  we  move  on  with  a 
fair  society — beautiful  women,  noble  men— 
before  whom  the  tropical  luxuriance  of  that 
world  bends  and  bows  in  homage ;  and 
through  endless  days  and  nights  of  eternal 
summer  the  stately  revel  of  our  life  pro 
ceeds.  Then  suddenly  the  music  stops.  I 
hear  my  watch  ticking  under  the  pillow.  I 
see  dimly  the  outline  of  my  little  upper 
room.  Then  I  fall  asleep,  and  in  the  morn 
ing  some  one  of  the  boarders  at  the  break 
fast-table  says, 

"  *  Did  you  hear  the  serenade  last  night, 
Mr.  Titbottom  ?'  " 

I  doubted  no  longer  that  Titbottom  was 
a  very  extensive  proprietor.  The  truth  is 
that  he  was  so  constantly  engaged  in  plan 
ning  and  arranging  his  castles  that  he  con- 
71 


versed  very  little  at  the  office,  and  I  had 
misinterpreted  his  silence.  As  we  walked 
homeward  that  day  he  was  more  than  ever 
tender  and  gentle.  "  We  must  all  have 
something  to  do  in  this  world,"  said  he, 
"  and  I,  who  have  so  much  leisure— for  you 
know  I  have  no  wife  nor  children  to  work  for 
—know  not  what  I  should  do  if  I  had  not 
my  castles  in  Spain  to  look  after." 

When  I  reached  home,  my  darling  Prue 
was  sitting  in  the  small  parlor,  reading.  I 
felt  a  little  guilty  for  having  been  so  long 
away,  and  upon  my  only  holiday,  too.  So  I 
began  to  say  that  Titbottom  invited  me  to 
go  to  walk,  and  that  I  had  no  idea  we  had 
gone  so  far,  and  that — 

"  Don't  excuse  yourself,"  said  Prue,  smil 
ing  as  she  laid  down  her  book  ;  "  I  am  glad 
you  have  enjoyed  yourself.  You  ought  to 
go  out  sometimes,  and  breathe  the  fresh 
air,  and  run  about  the  fields,  which  I  am 
not  strong  enough  to  do.  Why  did  you  not 
bring  home  Mr.  Titbottom  to  tea  ?  He  is 
so  lonely,  and  looks  so  sad.  I  am  sure  he 
has  very  little  comfort  in  this  life,"  said  my 
thoughtful  Prue,  as  she  called  Jane  to  set 
the  tea-table. 

"  But  he  has  a  good  deal  of  comfort  in 
Spain,  Prue,"  answered  I. 

"  When  was  Mr.  Titbottom  in  Spain  ?"  in 
quired  my  wife. 


"  Why,  he  is  there  more  than  half  the 
time,"  I  replied. 

Prue  looked  quietly  at  me  and  smiled. 
"  I  see  it  has  done  you  good  to  breathe  the 
country  air,"  said  she.  ''  Jane,  get  some  of 
the  blackberry  jam,  and  call  Adoniram  and 
the  children." 

So  we  went  in  to  tea.  We  eat  in  the 
back  parlor,  for  our  little  house  and  limited 
means  do  not  allow  us  to  have  things  upon 
the  Spanish  scale.  It  is  better  than  a  ser 
mon  to  hear  my  wife  Prue  talk  to  the  chil 
dren  ;  and  when  she  speaks  to  me  it  seems 
sweeter  than  psalm  singing — at  least,  such 
as  we  have  in  our  church.  I  am  very  happy. 

73 


Yet  I  dream  my  dreams,  and  attend  to 
my  castles  in  Spain.  I  have  so  much  prop 
erty  there  that  I  could  not,  in  conscience, 
neglect  it.  All  the  years  of  my  youth  and 
the  hopes  of  my  manhood  are  stored  away, 
like  precious  stones,  in  the  vaults,  and  I 
know  that  I  shall  find  everything  conven 
ient,  elegant,  and  beautiful  when  I  come 
into  possession. 

As  the  years  go  by  I  am  not  conscious 
that  my  interest  diminishes.  If  I  see  that 
age  is  subtly  sifting  his  snow  in  the  dark 
hair  of  my  Prue,  I  smile,  contented,  for  her 
hair,  dark  and  heavy  as  when  I  first  saw  it, 
is  all  carefully  treasured  in  my  castles  in 
Spain.  If  I  feel  her  arm  more  heavily  lean 
ing  upon  mine  as  we  walk  around  the 
squares,  I  press  it  closely  to  my  side,  for  I 
know  that  the  easy  grace  of  her  youth's 
motion  will  be  restored  by  the  elixir  of  that 
Spanish  air.  If  her  voice  sometimes  falls 
less  clearly  from  her  lips,  it  is  no  less  sweet 
to  me,  for  the  music  of  her  voice's  prime 
fills,  freshly  as  ever,  those  Spanish  halls.  If 
the  light  I  love  fades  a  little  from  her  eyes, 
I  know  that  the  glances  she  gave  me  in  our 
youth  aie  the  eternal  sunshine  of  my  castles 
in  Spain. 

I  defy  time  and  change.  Each  year  laid 
upon  our  heads  is  a  hand  of  blessing.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  I  shall  find  the  short- 

74 


est  route  to  my  possessions  as  soon  as  need 
be.  Perhaps  when  Adoniram  is  married  we 
shall  all  go  out  to  one  of  my  castles  to  pass 
the  honey-moon. 

Ah  !  if  the  true  history  of  Spain  could  be 
written,  what  a  book  were  there  !  The  most 
purely  romantic  ruin  in  the  world  is  the 
Alhambra.  But  of  the  Spanish  castles, 
more  spacious  and  splendid  than  any  pos 
sible  Alhambra,  and  forever  unruined,  no 
towers  are  visible,  no  pictures  have  been 
painted,  and  only  a  few  ecstatic  songs  have 
been  sung.  The  pleasure -dome  of  Kubla 
Khan,  which  Coleridge  saw  in  Xanadu  (a 
province  with  which  I  am  not  familiar),  and 
a  fine  Castle  of  Indolence  belonging  to 
Thomson,  and  the  Palace  of  Art  which  Ten 
nyson  built  as  a  "lordly  pleasure-house"  for 
his  soul,  are  among  the  best  statistical  ac 
counts  of  those  Spanish  estates.  Turner, 
too,  has  done  for  them  much  the  same  serv 
ice  that  Owen  Jones  has  done  for  the  Al 
hambra.  In  the  vignette  to  Moore's  Epicu 
rean  you  will  find  represented  one  of  the 
most  extensive  castles  in  Spain ;  and  there 
are  several  exquisite  studies  from  others, 
by  the  same  artists,  published  in  Rogers's 
"  Italy." 

But  I  confess  I  do  not  recognize  any  of 
these  as  mine,  and  that  fact  makes  me 
prouder  of  my  own  castles ;  for,  if  there  be 

75 


such  boundless  va 
riety  of  magnifi 
cence   in   their   as 
pect  and  exterior,  imagine  the  life  that  is 
led  there  —  a  life  not  unworthy  such  a  set 
ting. 

If  Adoniram  should  be  married  within  a 
reasonable  time,  and  we  should  make  up 
that  little  family  party  to  go  out,  I  have 
considered  already  what  society  I  should 
ask  to  meet  the  bride.  Jephthah's  daughter 
and  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  I  should  say — 
and  fair  Rosamond  with  Dean  Swift — King 
Solomon  and  the  Queen  of  Sheba  would 
come  over,  I  think,  from  his  famous  castle 
—Shakespeare  and  his  friend  the  Marquis 
of  Southampton  might  come  in  a  galley  with 
76 


Cleopatra  ;  and,  if  any  guest  were  offended 
by  her  presence,  he  should  devote  himself 
to  the  Fair  One  with  Golden  Locks.    Meph- 
istopheles  is  not  per 
sonally  disagreeable, 
and    is    exceed 
ingly  well-bred 
in  society,  I  am 


told ;    and    he 
should    come 
tete-a-tete  with 
Mrs.  Rawdon 
Crawley.  Spen 
ser  should  escort  his   Faerie  Queene,  who 
would  preside  at  the  tea-table. 

Mr.  Samuel  Weller  I  should  ask  as  Lord 
of  Misrule,  and  Dr.  Johnson  as  the  Abbot 
of  Unreason.  I  would  suggest  to  Major 
Dobbin  to  accompany  Mrs.  Fry;  Alcibiades 
would  bring  Homer  and  Plato  in  his  purple- 
sailed  galley ;  and  I  would  have  Aspasia, 

77 


Ninon  de  1'Enclos,  and  Mrs.  Battle  to  make 
up  a  table  of  whist  with  Queen  Elizabeth. 
I  shall  order  a  seat  placed  in  the  oratory 
for  Lady  Jane  Grey  and  Joan  of  Arc.  I  shall 
invite  General  Washington  to  bring  some  of 
the  choicest  cigars  from  his  plantation  for 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  and  Chaucer,  Browning, 
and  Walter  Savage  Landor  should  talk  with 
Goethe,  who  is  to  bring  Tasso  on  one  arm 
and  Iphigenia  on  the  other. 

Dante  and  Mr.  Carlyle  would  prefer,  I 
suppose,  to  go  down  into  the  dark  vaults 
under  the  castle.  The  Man  in  the  Moon, 
the  Old  Harry,  and  William  of  the  Wisp 
would  be  valuable  additions,  and  the  Lau 
reate  Tennyson  might  compose  an  official 
ode  upon  the  occasion  :  or  I  would  ask 
"  They  "  to  say  all  about  it. 

Of  course  there  are  many  other  guests 
whose  names  I  do  not  at  the  moment  recall. 
But  I  should  invite,  first  of  all,  Miles  Cov- 
erdale,  who  knows  everything  about  these 
places  and  this  society,  for  he  was  at  Blithe- 
dale,  and  he  has  described  "a  select  party" 
which  he  attended  at  a  castle  in  the  air. 

Prue  has  not  yet  looked  over  the  list.  In 
fact,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  she  knows  my 
intention.  For  I  wish  to  surprise  her,  and 
I  think  it  would  be  generous  to  ask  Bourne 
to  lead  her  out  in  the  bridal  quadrille.  I 
think  that  I  shall  try  the  first  waltz  with  the 
78 


girl  I  sometimes  seem  to  see  in  my  fairest 
castle,  but  whom  I  very  vaguely  remember. 
Titbottom  will  come  with  old  Burton  and 
Jaques.  But  I  have  not  prepared  half  my 
invitations.  Do  you  not  guess  it,  seeing 
that  I  did  not  name,  first  of  all,  Elia,  who 
assisted  at  the  "  Rejoicings  upon  the  new 
year's  coming  of  age  ?" 


WH9RH1 

'!."  i"t ' 


•< 


And  yet,  if  Adoniram  should  never  marry? 
— or  if  we  could  not  get  to  Spain  ? — or  if 
the  company  would  not  come  ? 

What  then  ?  Shall  I  betray  a  secret  ?  I 
have  already  entertained  this  party  in  my 
humble  little  parlor  at  home  ;  and  Prue  pre 
sided  as  serenely  as  Semiramis  over  her 

79 


court.  Have  I  not  said  that  I  defy  time, 
and  shall  space  hope  to  daunt  me  ?  I  keep 
books  by  day,  but  by  night  books  keep  me. 
They  leave  me  to  dreams  and  reveries.  Shall 
I  confess  that  sometimes  when  I  have  been 
sitting  reading  to  my  Prue — Cymbeline,  per 
haps,  or  a  Canterbury  tale — I  have  seemed 
to  see  clearly  before  me  the  broad  highway 
to  my  castles  in  Spain ;  and  as  she  looked 
up  from  her  work,  and  smiled  in  sympathy, 
I  have  even  fancied  that  I  was  already 
there. 


SEA    FROM   SHORE 


"  Come  unto  these  yellow  sands." 

—The  Tempest 

"Argosies  of  magic  sails, 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with 

costly  bales." 

— TENNYSON 


IN  the  month  of  June,  Pme  and  I  like  to 
walk  upon  the  Battery  towards  sunset,  and 
watch  the  steamers,  crowded  with  passen 
gers,  bound  for  the  pleasant  places  along 
the  coast  where  people  pass  the  hot  months. 
Sea-side  lodgings  are  not  very  comfortable, 
I  am  told ;  but  who  would  not  willingly  be 
a  little  pinched  in  his  chamber  if  his  win 
dows  looked  upon  the  sea  ? 

In  such  praises  of  the  ocean  do  I  indulge 
at  such  times,  and  so  respectfully  do  I  regard 
the  sailors  who  may  chance  to  pass  that 
Prue  often  says,  with  her  shrewd  smiles, 
that  my  mind  is  a  kind  of  Greenwich  Hos- 
83 


pital,  full  of  abortive  marine  hopes  and 
wishes,  broken-legged  intentions,  blind  re 
grets,  and  desires,  whose  hands  have  been 
shot  away  in  some  hard  battle  of  experience, 
so  that  they  cannot  grasp  the  results  towards 
which  they  reach. 

She  is  right,  as  usual.  Such  hopes  and 
intentions  do  lie,  ruined  and  hopeless  now, 
strewn  about  the  placid  contentment  of  my 
mental  life,  as  the  old  pensioners  sit  about 
the  grounds  at  Greenwich,  maimed  and  mus 
ing  in  the  quiet  morning  sunshine.  Many 
a  one  among  them  thinks  what  a  Nelson  he 
would  have  been  if  both  his  legs  had  not 
been  prematurely  carried  away ;  or  in  what 
a  Trafalgar  of  triumph  he  would  have  ended 
if,  unfortunately,  he  had  not  happened  to 
have  been  blown  blind  by  the  explosion  of 
that  unlucky  magazine. 

So  I  dream  sometimes  of  a  straight  scar 
let  collar,  stiff  with  gold-lace,  around  my 
neck,  instead  of  this  limp  white  cravat ;  and 
I  have  even  brandished  my  quill  at  the 
office  so  cutlass- wise  that  Titbottom  has 
paused  in  his  additions,  and  looked  at  me 
as  if  he  doubted  whether  I  should  come  out 
quite  square  in  my  petty  cash.  Yet  be 
understands  it.  Titbottom  was  born  in  Nan- 
tucket. 

That  is  the  secret  of  my  fondness  for  the 
sea ;  I  was  born  by  it.  Not  more  surely  do 
34 


Savoyards  pine  for  the  mountains,  or  Cock 
neys  for  the  sound  of  Bow  bells,  than  those 
who  are  born  within  sight  and  sound  of  the 
ocean  to  return  to  it  and  renew  their  fealty. 
In  dreams  the  children  of  the  sea 
hear  its  voice. 

I  have  read  in  some  book  of 
travels  that  certain  tribes  of  Arabs 
have  no  name  for  the  ocean,  and 
that  when  they  came  to  the  shore 
for  the  first  time  they  asked, 
with  eager  sadness,  as  if  pen 
etrated  by  the  conviction 
of  a  superior  beauty,  "  what 
is  that  desert  of  water  more 
beautiful  than  the  land  ?" 
And  in  the  translations  of  German 
stories  which  Adoniram  and  the  other  chil 
dren  read,  and  into  which  I  occasionally  look 
in  the  evening  when  they  are  gone  to  bed — 
for  I  like  to  know  what  interests  my  chil 
dren — I  find  that  the  Germans,  who  do  not 
live  near  the  sea,  love  the  fairy  lore  of  water, 
and  tell  the  sweet  stories  of  Undine  and 
Melusina  as  if  they  had  especial  charm  for 
them,  because  their  country  is  inland. 

We  who  know  the  sea  have  less  fairy  feel 
ing  about  it,  but  our  realities  are  romance. 
My  earliest  remembrances  are  of  a  long 
range  of  old,  half -dilapidated  stores;  red 
brick  stores  with  steep  wooden  roofs,  and 
85 


stone  window-frames  and  door-frames,  which 
stood  upon  docks  built  as  if  for  immense 
trade  with  all  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Generally  there  were  only  a  few  sloops 
moored  to  the  tremendous  posts,  which  I 
fancied  could  easily  hold  fast  a  Spanish  Ar 
mada  in  a  tropical  hurricane.  But  some 
times  a  great  ship,  an  East  Indiaman,  with 
rusty,  seamed,  blistered  sides,  and  dingy 
sails,  came  slowly  moving  up  the  harbor, 
with  an  air  of  indolent  self-importance  and 
consciousness  of  superiority  which  inspired 
me  with  profound  respect.  If  the  ship  had 
ever  chanced  to  run  clown  a  row-boat,  or  a 
sloop,  or  any  specimen  of  smaller  craft,  I 
should  only  have  wondered  at  the  temerity 
of  any  floating  thing  in  crossing  the  path  of 
such  supreme  majesty.  The  ship  was  lei 
surely  chained  and  cabled  to  the  old  dock, 
and  then  came  the  disembowelling. 

How  the  stately  monster  had  been  fatten 
ing  upon  foreign  spoils !  How  it  had  gorged 
itself  (such  galleons  did  never  seem  to  me 
of  the  feminine  gender)  with  the  luscious 
treasures  of  the  tropics!  It  had  lain  its 
lazy  length  along  the  shores  of  China,  and 
sucked  in  whole  flowery  harvests  of  tea. 
The  Brazilian  sun  flashed  through  the  strong 
wicker  prisons,  bursting  with  bananas  and 
nectarean  fruits  that  eschew  the  temperate 
zone.  Steams  of  camphor,  of  sandal-wood, 

86 


arose  from  the  hold.  Sailors  chanting  cab 
alistic  strains,  that  had  to  my  ear  a  shrill 
and  monotonous  pathos,  like  the  uniform 
rising  and  falling  of  an  autumn  wind,  turned 
cranks  that  lifted  the  bales  and  boxes  and 
crates,  and  swung  them  ashore. 

But  to  my  mind  the  spell  of  their  singing 
raised  the  fragrant  freight,  and  not  the 
crank.  Madagascar  and  Ceylon  appeared 
at  the  mystic  bidding  of  the  song.  The 


placid  sunshine  of  the  docks  was  perfumed 
with  India.  The  universal  calm  of  south 
ern  seas  poured  from  the  bosom  of  the  ship 
over  the  quiet,  decaying  old  northern  port. 

Long   after   the   confusion   of  unloading 
was  over,  and  the  ship  lay  as  if  all  voyages 
were   ended,  I   dared  to  creep  timorously 
87 


along  the  edge  of  the  dock,  and  at  great 
risk  of  falling  in  the  black  water  of  its  huge 
shadow  I  placed  my  hand  upon  the  hot 
hulk,  and  so  established  a  mystic  and  ex 
quisite  connection  with  Pacific  islands,  with 
palm  groves  and  all  the  passionate  beauties 
they  embower;  with  jungles,  Bengal  tigers, 
pepper,  and  the  crushed  feet  of  Chinese 
fairies.  I  touched  Asia,  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  and  the  Happy  Islands.  I  would 
not  believe  that  the  heat  I  felt  was  of  our 
northern  sun  ;  to  my  finer  sympathy  it  burn 
ed  with  equatorial  fervors. 

The  freight  was  piled  in  the  old  stores. 
I  believe  that  many  of  them  remain,  but 
they  have  lost  their  character.  When  I 
knew  them,  not  only  was  I  younger,  but 
partial  decay  had  overtaken  the  town ;  at 
least  the  bulk  of  its  India  trade  had  shifted 
to  New  York  and  Boston.  But  the  appli 
ances  remained.  There  was  no  throng  of 
busy  traffickers,  and  after  school,  in  the  af 
ternoon,  I  strolled  by  and  gazed  into  the 
solemn  interiors. 

Silence  reigned  within — silence,  dimness, 
and  piles  of  foreign  treasure.  Vast  coils 
of  cable,  like  tame  boa- constrictors,  served 
as  seats  for  men  with  large  stomachs  and 
heavy  watch  -  seals  and  nankeen  trousers, 
who  sat  looking  out  of  the  door  towards  the 
ships,  with  little  other  sign  of  life  than  an 


occasional  low  talking,  as  if  in  their  sleep. 
Huge  hogsheads  perspiring  brown  sugar 
and  oozing  slow  molasses,  as  if  nothing 
tropical  could  keep  within  bounds,  but  must 
continually  expand  and  exude  and  overflow, 
stood  against  the  walls,  and  had  an  archi 
tectural  significance,  for  they  darkly  re 
minded  me  of  Egyptian  prints,  and  in  the 
duskiness  of  the  low -vaulted  store  seemed 
cyclopean  columns  incomplete.  Strange 
festoons  and  heaps  of  bags,  square  piles  of 
square  boxes  cased  in  mats,  bales  of  airy 
summer  stuffs,  which,  even  in  winter,  scoff 
ed  at  cold,  and  shamed  it  by  audacious 
assumption  of  eternal  sun,  little  specimen 
boxes  of  precious  dyes  that  even  now 
shine  through  my  memory,  like  old  Vene 
tian  schools  unpainted  —  these  were  all 
there  in  rich  confusion. 

The  stores  had  a  twilight  of  dim 
ness,  the  air  was  spicy  with 
mingled  odors.  I  liked 
to  look  suddenly  in  from 
the  glare  of  sunlight  out 
side,  and  then  the  cool, 
sweet  dimness  was  like 
the  palpable  breath  of 
the  far-off  island  groves ; 
and  if  only  some  parrot 
or  macaw  hung  within 
would  flaunt  with  glis- 
89 


tening  plumage  in  his  cage,  and  as  the  gay 
hue  flashed  in  a  chance  sunbeam,  call  in 
his  hard,  shrill  voice,  as  if  thrusting  sharp 
sounds  upon  a  glistening  wire  from  out  that 
grateful  gloom,  then  the  enchantment  was 
complete,  and,  without  moving,  I  was  cir 
cumnavigating  the  globe. 

From  the  old  stores  and  the  docks  slowly 
crumbling  —  touched,  I  know  not  why  or 
how,  by  the  pensive  air  of  past  prosperity — 
I  rambled  out  of  town  on  those  well-remem 
bered  afternoons  to  the  fields  that  lay  upon 
hill -sides  over  the  harbor,  and  there  sat, 
looking  out  to  sea,  fancying  some  distant 
sail  proceeding  to  the  glorious  ends  of  the 
earth  to  be  my  type  and  image,  who  would 
so  sail,  stately  and  successful,  to  all  the 
glorious  ports  of  the  Future.  Going  home, 
I  returned  by  the  stores,  which  black  por 
ters  were  closing.  But  I  stood  long  looking 
in,  saturating  my  imagination,  and,  as  it  ap 
peared,  my  clothes,  with  the  spicy  sugges 
tion  ;  for  when  I  reached  home  my  thrifty 
mother— another  Prue  — came  snuffing  and 
smelling  about  me. 

"Why!  my  son  (snuff,  snuff],  where  have 
you  been  (snuff,  snuff)!  Has  the  baker 
been  making  (snuff)  ginger  -  bread  ?  You 
smell  as  if  you'd  been  in  (snuff,  snuff)  a  bag 
of  cinnamon." 

"  I've  only  been  on  the  wharves,  mother." 
90 


"Well,  my  dear,  I  hope  you  haven't  stuck 
up  your  clothes  with  molasses.  Wharves  are 
dirty  places,  and  dangerous.  You  must  take 
care  of  yourself,  my  son.  Really,  this  smell 
is  (snuff,  snuff)  very  strong." 

But  I  departed  from  the  maternal  pres 
ence  proud  and  happy.  I  was  aromatic.  I 
bore  about  me  the  true  foreign  air.  Who 
ever  smelled  me  smelled  distant  countries. 
I  had  nutmeg,  spices,  cinnamon,  and  cloves 
91 


without  the  jolly  red  nose.  I  pleased  my 
self  with  being  the  representative  of  the  In 
dies.  I  was  in  good  odor  with  myself  and 
all  the  world. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  surely  Nat 
ure  makes  kindly  provision.  An  imagina 
tion  so  easily  excited  as  mine  could  not 
have  escaped  disappointment  if  it  had  had 
ample  opportunity  and  experience  of  the 
lands  it  so  longed  to  see.  Therefore,  al 
though  I  made  the  India  voyage,  I  have 
never  been  a  traveller,  and,  saving  the  little 
time  I  was  ashore  in  India,  I  did  not  lose 
the  sense  of  novelty  and  romance  which 
the  first  sight  of  foreign  lands  inspires. 

That  little  time  was  all  my  foreign  travel. 
I  am  glad  of  it.  I  see  now  that  I  should 
never  have  found  the  country  from  which 
the  East  Indiaman  of  my  early  days  arrived. 
The  palm  groves  do  not  grow  with  which 
that  hand  laid  upon  the  ship  placed  me  in 
magic  conception.  As  for  the  lovely  Indian 
maid  whom  the  palmy  arches  bowered,  she 
has  long  since  clasped  some  native  lover  to 
her  bosom,  and,  ripened  into  mild  mater 
nity,  how  should  I  know  her  now? 

"You  would  find  her  quite  as  easily  now 
as  then,"  says  my  Prue,  when  I  speak  of  it. 

She  is  right  again,  as  usual,  that  precious 
woman ;  and  it  is  therefore  I  feel  that  if  the 
chances  of  life  have  moored  me  fast  to  a 
92 


book-keeper's  desk,  they  have  left  all  the 
lands  I  longed  to  see  fairer  and  fresher  in 
my  mind  than  they  could  ever  be  in  my 
memory.  Upon  my  only  voyage  I  used  to 
climb  into  the  top  and  search  the  horizon 
for  the  shore.  But  now  in  a  moment  of  cairn 
thought  I  see  a  more  Indian  India  than 
ever  mariner  discerned,  and  do  not  envy 
the  youths  who  go  there  and  make  fortunes, 
who  wear  grass -cloth  jackets,  drink  iced 
beer,  and  eat  curry ;  whose  minds  fall  asleep, 
and  whose  bodies  have  liver  complaints. 

Unseen  by  me  forever,  nor  ever  regret 
ted,  shall  wave  the  Egyptian  palms  and  the 
Italian  pines.     Untrodden  by  me,  the  Fo 
rum  shall  still  echo  with  the  footfall  of  im 
perial  Rome,  and  the  Parthenon,  unrifled  of 
its  marbles,  look  perfect  across  the  yEgean 
blue.     My  young  friends  return  from  their 
foreign    tours    elate 
with    the    smiles   of 
a  nameless  Italian 
or  Parisian  belle. 
I  know  not   such 
cheap  delights ;  I 
am  a  suitor  of  Vit- 
toria   Colonna ; 
I    walk    with 
Tasso   along 
the   terraced      /  / 
garden  of 


the  Villa  d'Este,  and  look  to  see  Beatrice 
smiling  down  the  rich  gloom  of  the  cypress 
shade.  You  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Europa 
in  Venice,  at  Danieli's,  or  the  Leone  Bianco; 
I  am  the  guest  of  Marino  Faliero,  and  I 
whisper  to  his  wife,  as  we  climb  the  giant 
staircase  in  the  summer  moonlight, 

' '  Ah  !    senza  amare 
Andare  sul  mare, 
Col  sposo  del  mare, 
Non  puo  consolare." 

It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  I  did  not 
care  to  dine  with  you  and  Aurelia  that  I 
am  content  not  to  stand  in  St.  Peter's.  Alas ! 
if  I  could  see  the  end  of  it,  it  would  not  be 
St.  Peter's.  For  those  of  us  whom  Nature 
means  to  keep  at  home  she  provides  enter 
tainment.  One  man  goes  four  thousand 
miles  to  Italy  and  does  not  see  it,  he  is  so 
short-sighted.  Another  is  so  far-sighted 
that  he  stays  in  his  room  and  sees  more 
than  Italy. 

But  for  this  very  reason  that  it  washes 
the  shores  of  my  possible  Europe  and  Asia, 
the  sea  draws  me  constantly  to  itself.  Be 
fore  I  came  to  New  York,  while  I  was  still 
a  clerk  in  Boston,  courting  Prue  and  living 
out  of  town,  I  never  knew  of  a  ship  sailing 
for  India,  or  even  for  England  and  France, 

94 


but  I  went  up  to  the  State-house  cupola  or 
to  the  observatory  on  some  friend's  house 
in  Roxbury,  where  I  could  not  be  interrupt 
ed,  and  there  watched  the  departure. 

The  sails  hung  ready ;  the  ship  lay  in  the 
stream  ;  busy  little  boats  and  puffing  steam 
ers  darted  about  it,  clung  to  its  sides,  pad 
dled  away  from  it,  or  led  the  way  to  sea,  as 
minnows  might  pilot  a  whale.  The  anchor 
was  slowly  swung  at  the  bow ;  I  could  not 
hear  the  sailors'  song,  but  I  knew  they  were 
singing.  I  could  not  see  the  parting  friends, 
but  I  knew  farewells  were  spoken.  I  did  not 
share  the  confusion,  although  I  knew  what 
bustle  there  was,  what  hurry,  what  shout 
ing,  what  creaking,  what  fall  of  ropes  and 
iron,  what  sharp  oaths,  low  laughs,  whispers, 
sobs.  But  I  was  cool,  high,  separate.  To 
me  it  was 

' '  A  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean." 
95 


The  sails  were  shaken  out  and  the  ship 
began  to  move.  It  was  a  fair  breeze,  per 
haps,  and  no  steamer  was  needed  to  tow  her 
away.  She  receded  down  the  bay.  Friends 
turned  back — I  could  not  see  them — and 
waved  their  hands,  and  wiped  their  eyes, 
and  went  home  to  dinner.  Farther  and  far 
ther  from  the  ships  at  anchor,  the  lessening 
vessel  became  single  and  solitary  upon  the 
water.  The  sun  sank  in  the  west,  but  I 
watched  her  still.  Every  flash  of  her  sails, 
as  she  tacked  and  turned,  thrilled  my  heart. 

Yet  Prue  was  not  on  board.  I  had  never 
seen  one  of  the  passengers  or  the  crew.  I 
did  not  know  the  consignees,  nor  the  name 
of  the  vessel.  I  had  shipped  no  adventure, 
nor  risked  any  insurance,  nor  made  any  bet, 
but  my  eyes  clung  to  her  as  Ariadne's  to 
the  fading  sail  of  Theseus.  The  ship  was 
freighted  with  more  than  appeared  upon  her 
papers,  yet  she  was  not  a  smuggler.  She 
bore  all  there  was  of  that  nameless  lading, 
yet  the  next  ship  would  carry  as  much.  She 
was  freighted  with  fancy;  my  hopes  and 
wishes  and  vague  desires  were  all  on  board. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  treasure  not  less  rich 
than  that  which  filled  the  East  Indiaman  at 
the  old  dock  in  my  boyhood. 

When  at  length  the  ship  was  a  sparkle 
upon  the  horizon,  I  waved  my  hand  in  last 
farewell,  I  strained  my  eyes  for  a  last 

Q6 


glimpse.  My  mind  had  gone  to  sea,  and 
had  left  noise  behind ;  but  now  I  heard 
again  the  multitudinous  murmur  of  the  city, 
and  went  down  rapidly,  and  threaded  the 
short,  narrow  streets  to  the  office.  Yet,  be 
lieve  it,  every  dream  of  that  day  as  I  watch 
ed  the  vessel  was  written  at  night  to  Prue. 
She  knew  that  my  heart  had  not  sailed  away. 

Those  days  are  long  past  now ;  but  still  I 
walk  upon  the  Battery  and  look  towards  the 
Narrows,  and  know  that  beyond  them,  sep 
arated  only  by  the  sea,  are  many  of  whom  I 
would  so  gladly  know  and  so  rarely  hear. 
The  sea  rolls  between  us  like  the  lapse  of 
dusky  ages.  They  trusted  themselves  to  it, 
and  it  bore  them  away  far  and  far  as  if  into 
the  past.  Last  night  I  read  of  Antony,  but 
I  have  not  heard  from  Christopher  these 
many  months ;  and  by  so  much  farther  away 
is  he,  so  much  older  and  more  remote,  than 
Antony.  As  for  William,  he  is  as  vague  as 
any  of  the  shepherd  kings  of  ante-Pharaonic 
dynasties. 

Lt  is  the  sea  that  has  done  it;  it  has  car 
ried  them  off  and  put  them  away  upon  its 
other  side.  It  is  fortunate  the  sea  did  not 
put  them  upon  its  underside.  Are  they  hale 
and  happy  still  ?  Is  their  hair  gray,  and 
have  they  mustaches  ?  or  have  they  taken 
to  wigs  and  crutches  ?  Are  they  popes  or 
cardinals  yet  ?  Do  they  feast  with  Lucrezia 

99 


Borgia,  or  preach  red  republicanism  to  the 
Council  of  Ten  ?  Do  they  sing  "  Behold 
how  brightly  breaks  the  morning "  with 
Masaniello  ?  Do  they  laugh  at  Ulysses  and 
skip  ashore  to  the  Sirens  ?  Has  Mesrour, 
chief  of  the  Eunuchs,  caught  them  with 
Zobeide  in  the  Caliph's  garden,  or  have 
they  made  cheese-cakes  without  pepper? 
Friends  of  my  youth,  where  in  your  wan 
derings  have  you  tasted  the  blissful  Lotus 
that  you  neither  come  nor  send  us  tidings  ? 
Across  the  sea  also  came  idle  rumors,  as 
false  reports  steal  into  history  and  defile 
fair  fames.  Was  it  longer  ago  than  yester 
day  that  I  walked  with  my  cousin,  then  re 
cently  a  widow,  and  talked  with  her  of  the 
countries  to  which  she  meant  to  sail  ?  She 
was  young  and  dark -eyed,  and  wore  great 
hoops  of  gold,  barbaric  gold,  in  her  ears. 
The  hope  of  Italy,  the  thought  of  living 
there,  had  risen  like  a  dawn  in  the  dark 
ness  of  her  mind.  I  talked  and  listened 
by  rapid  turns.  Was  it  longer  ago  than  yes 
terday  that  she  told  me  of  her  splendid 
plans,  how  palaces  tapestried  with  gorgeous 
paintings  should  be  cheaply  hired,  and  the 
best  of  teachers  lead  her  children  to  the 
completest  and  most  various  knowledge; 
how — and  with  her  slender  pittance  ! — she 
should  have  a  box  at  the  opera,  and  a  car 
riage,  and  livened  servants,  and,  in  perfect 


health  and  youth,  lead  a  perfect  life  in  a 
perfect  climate  ? 

And  now  what  do  I  hear  ?  Why  does  a 
tear  sometimes  drop  so  audibly  upon  my 
paper  that  Titbottom  looks  across  with  a 
sort  of  mild  rebuking  glance  of  inquiry, 
whether  it  is  kind  to  let  even  a  single  tear 
fall,  when  an  ocean  of  tears  is  pent  up  in 
hearts  that  would  burst  and  overflow  if  but 
one  drop  should  force  its  way  out  ?  Why 
across  the  sea  came  faint,  gusty  stories,  like 
low  voices  in  the  wind,  of  a  cloistered  gar 
den  and  sunny  seclusion,  and  a  life  of  un 
known  and  unexplained  luxury?  What  is 
this  picture  of  a  pale  face  showered  with 
streaming  black  hair,  and  large,  sad  eyes 
looking  upon  lovely  and  noble  children 
playing  in  the  sunshine,  and  a  brow  pained 
with  thought  straining  into  their  destiny? 
Who  is  this  figure,  a  man  tall  and  comely, 
with  melting  eyes  and  graceful  motion,  who 
comes  and  goes  at  pleasure,  who  is  not  a 
husband,  yet  has  the  key  of  the  cloistered  ,  ..  . 
garden  ? 

I  do  not  know.     They  are  secrets  of  the  * 
sea.     The  pictures  pass   before    my  mind-,-  .,*•'.  *  , . 
suddenly  and  unawares,  and  I  feel  the  tears 


rising  that  I  would  gladly  repress.  Titbot- 
tom  looks  at  me,  then  stands  by  the  win 
dow  of  the  office  and  leans  his  brow  against 
the  cold  iron  bars,  and  looks  down  into  the 
little  square  paved  court.  I  take  my  hat 
and  steal  out  of  the  office  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  slowly  pace  the  hurrying  streets.  Meek- 
eyed  Alice  !  magnificent  Maud  !  sweet  baby 
Lilian  !  why  does  the  sea  imprison  you  so 
far  away,  when  will  you  return,  where  do 
you  linger  ?  The  water  laps  idly  about  the 
docks  —  lies  calm,  or  gayly  heaves.  Why 
does  it  bring  me  doubts  and  fears  now,  that 
brought  such  bounty  of  beauty  in  the  days 
long  gone  ? 

I  remember  that  the  day  when  my  dark- 
haired  cousin,  with  hoops  of  barbaric  gold 
in  her  ears,  sailed  for  Italy,  was  quarter-day, 
and  we  balanced  the  books  at  the  office. 
It  was  nearly  noon,  and  in  my  impatience 
to  be  away  I  had  not  added  my  columns 
with  sufficient  care.  The  inexorable  hand 
of  the  office  clock  pointed  sternly  towards 
twelve,  and  the  remorseless  pendulum  tick 
ed  solemnly  to  noon. 

To  a  man  whose  pleasures  are  not  many, 
and  rather  small,  the  loss  of  such  an  event 
as  saying  farewell  and  wishing  godspeed 
to  a  friend  going  to  Europe  is  a  great  loss. 
It  was  so  to  me,  especially,  because  there 
was  always  more  to  me  in  every  departure 


than  the  parting  and  the  farewell.  I  was 
gradually  renouncing  this  pleasure,  as  I  saw 
small  prospect  of  ending  before  noon,  when 
Titbottom,  after  looking  at  me  a  moment, 
came  to  my  side  of  the  desk,  and  said, 
"  I  should  like  to  finish  that  for  you." 
I  looked  at  him.  Poor  Titbottom !  he 
had  no  friends  to  wish  godspeed  upon  any 
journey.  I  quietly  wiped  my  pen,  took 
down  my  hat,  and  went  out.  It  was  in  the 
days  of  sail  packets  and  less  regularity, 
when  going  to  Europe  was  more  of  an  epoch 
in  life.  How  gayly  my  cousin  stood  upon 
the  deck  and  detailed  to  me  her 
plan !  How  merrily  the  children 
shouted  and  sang !  How  long  I 
held  my  cousin's  little  hand  in 
mine,  and  gazed  into  her  great 
eyes,  remembering  that  they 
would  see  and  touch  the  things 
that  were  invisible  to  me  forever, 
but  all 
the  more 
precious 
and  fair ! 

She   kissed  me — I 
was  younger  then — there 
were  tears,  I  remember,  and 
prayers    and    promises,    a 
waving  handkerchief — a  fad 
ing  sail. 


It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  saw  an 
other  parting  of  the  same  kind.  I  was  not 
a  principal,  only  a  spectator ;  but  so  fond 
am  I  of  sharing  afar  off,  as  it  were,  and  un 
seen,  the  sympathies  of  human  beings,  that 
I  cannot  avoid  often  going  to  the  dock  upon 
steamer-days  and  giving  myself  to  that  pleas 
ant  and  melancholy  observation.  There  is 
always  a  crowd,  but  this  day  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  advance  through  the  masses 
of  people.  The  eager  faces  hurried  by ;  a 
constant  stream  poured  up  the  gangway  into 
the  steamer,  and  the  upper  deck,  to  which  I 
gradually  made  my  way,  was  crowded  with 
the  passengers  and  their  friends. 

There  was  one  group  upon  which  my 
eyes  first  fell,  and  upon  which  my  memory 
lingers.  A  glance  brilliant  as  daybreak — 
a  voice, 

"Her  voice's  music  —  call  it   the  well's  bubbling, 
the  bird's  warble," 

a  goddess  girdled  with  flowers,  and  smiling 
farewell  upon  a  circle  of  worshippers,  to 
each  one  of  whom  that  gracious  calmness 
made  the  smile  sweeter,  and  the  farewell 
more  sad  —  other  figures,  other  flowers,  an 
angel  face — all  these  I  saw  in  that  group  as 
I  was  swayed  up  and  down  the  deck  by  the 
eager  swarm  of  people.  The  hour  came, 


and   I  went  on    shore  with   the  rest.     The 
plank   was    drawn    away  —  the    captain 
raised  his  hand — the   huge   steamer 
slowly  moved — a  cannon  was  fired 
— the  ship  was  gone. 

The  sun  sparkled 
upon  the  water 
as  they  sailed 


away.  In  five  min- 
steamer  was  as  much 
from  the  shore  as  if  it 
sea  a  thousand  years. 


utes     the 
separated 
had  been  at 
I  leaned  against 


a  post  upon  the  dock  and  looked  around. 
Ranged  upon  the  edge  of  the  wharf  stood 
that  band  of  worshippers,  waving  handker 
chiefs  and  straining  their  eyes  to  see  the 
last  smile  of  farewell  —  did  any  eager,  self 
ish  eye  hope  to  see  a  tear  ?  They  to  whom 


the  handkerchiefs  were  waved  stood  high 
upon  the  stern,  holding  flowers.  Over  them 
hung  the  great  flag,  raised  by  the  gentle 
wind  into  the  graceful  folds  of  a  canopy 
—say,  rather,  a  gorgeous  gonfalon  waved 
over  the  triumphant  departure,  over  that 
supreme  youth  and  bloom  and  beauty,  go 
ing  out  across  the  mystic  ocean  to  carry 
a  finer  charm  and  more  human  splendor 
into  those  realms  of  my  imagination  be 
yond  the  sea. 

"  You  will  return,  O  youth  and  beauty !" 
I  said  to  my  dreaming  and  foolish  self,  as  I 
contemplated  those  fair  figures,  "  richer  than 
Alexander  with  Indian  spoils.  All  that  his 
toric  association,  that  copious  civilization, 
those  grandeurs  and  graces  of  art,  that  va 
riety  and  picturesqueness  of  life,  will  mel 
low  and  deepen  your  experience  even  as 
time  silently  touches  those  old  pictures  into 
a  more  persuasive  and  pathetic  beauty,  and 
as  this  increasing  summer  sheds  ever  softer 
lustre  upon  the  landscape.  You  will  return 
conquerors  and  not  conquered.  You  will 
bring  Europe,  even  as  Aurelian  brought 
Zenobia  captive,  to  deck  your  homeward 
triumph.  I  do  not  wonder  that  these  clouds 
break  away,  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  sun 
presses  out  and  floods  all  the  air  and  land 
and  water  with  light  that  graces  with  happy 
omens  your  stately  farewell." 

106 


But  if  my  faded  face  looked  after  them 
with  such  earnest  and  longing  emotion — I, 
a  solitary  old  man,  unknown  to  those  fair 
beings,  and  standing  apart  from  that  band 
of  lovers,  yet  in  that  moment  bound  more 
closely  to  them  than  they  knew — how  was  it 
with  those  whose  hearts  sailed  away  with 
that  youth  and  beauty  ?  I  watched  them 
closely  from  behind  my  post.  I  knew  that 
life  had  paused  with  them  ;  that  the  world 
stood  still.  I  knew  that  the  long,  long  sum 
mer  would  be  only  a  yearning  regret. 
I  knew  that  each  asked  himself 
the  mournful  question,  "  Is  this 
parting  typical — this  slow,  sad, 
sweet  recession  ?"  And  I  knew 
that  they  did  not  care  to  ask 
whether  they  should  meet 
again,  nor  dare  to  contemplate 
the  chances  of  the  sea. 

The  steamer  swept  on  ;  she 
was  near  Staten  Island,  and  a 
final  gun  boomed  far   and   low 
across  the  water.     The  crowd  was 
dispersing,  but  the   little   group   remained, 
Was  it  not  all  that  Hood  had  sung? — 


"  I  saw  thee,  lovely  Inez, 
Descend  along  the  shore 
With  bands  of  noble  gentlemen 
And  banners  waved  before  ; 


And  gentle  youths  and  maidens  gay, 
And  snowy  plumes  they  wore  ; 
It  would  have  been  a  beauteous  dream, 
If  it  had  been  no  more  !" 


"  O  youth  !"  I  said  to  them  without  speak 
ing,  "  be  it  gently  said,  as  it  is  solemnly 
thought,  should  they  return  no  more,  yet  in 
your  memories  the  high  hour  of  their  love 
liness  is  forever  enshrined.  Should  they 
come  no  more  they  never  will  be  old  nor 
changed  to  you.  You  will  wax  and  wane, 
you  will  suffer  and  struggle  and  grow  old ; 
but  this  summer  vision  will  smile,  immortal, 
upon  your  lives,  and  those  fair  faces  shall 
shed  forever,  from  under  that  slowly  waving 
flag,  hope  and  peace." 

It  is  so  elsewhere  ;  it  is  the  tenderness 
of  Nature.  Long,  long  ago  we  lost  our 
first-born,  Prue  and  I.  Since  then  we 
have  grown  older  and  our  children  with  us. 
Change  comes,  and  grief,  perhaps,  and  de 
cay.  We  are  happy,  our  children  are  obedi 
ent  and  gay.  But  should  Prue  live  until 
she  has  lost  us  all,  and  laid  us,  gray  and 
weary,  in  our  graves,  she  will  have  always 
one  babe  in  her  heart.  Every  mother  who 
has  lost  an  infant  has  gained  a  child  of 
immortal  youth.  Can  you  find  comfort  here, 
lovers,  whose  mistress  has  sailed  away  ? 

I  did  not  ask  the  question  aloud;  I  thought 

108 


it  only  as  I  watched  the  youths,  and  turned 
away  while  they  still  stood  gazing.  One,  I 
observed,  climbed  a  post,  and  waved  his 
black  hat  before  the  whitewashed  side  of 
the  shed  over  the  dock,  whence  I  supposed 
he  would  tumble  into  the  water.  Another 
had  tied  a  handkerchief  to  the  end  of  a 
somewhat  baggy  umbrella,  and  in  the  eager 
ness  of  gazing  had  forgotten  to  wave  it,  so 
that  it  hung  mournfully  down  as  if  over 
powered  with  grief  it  could  not  express.  The 
entranced  youth  still  held  the  umbrella  aloft. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  had  struck  his 


flag  ;  or  as  if  one  of  my  cravats  were  airing 
in  that  sunlight.  A  negro  carter  was  joking 
with  an  apple-woman  at  the  entrance  of  the 
dock.  The  steamer  was  out  of  sight. 

I  found  that  I  was  belated,  and  hurried 
back  to  my  desk.  Alas  !  poor  lovers  ;  I 
wonder  if  they  are  watching  still  ?  Has  he 
fallen  exhausted  from  the  post  into  the 
water  ?  Is  that  handkerchief,  bleached  and 
rent3  still  pendent  upon  that  somewhat  bag 
gy  umbrella  ? 

"  Youth  and  beauty  went  to  Europe  to 
day,"  said  I  to  Prue,  as  I  stirred  my  tea  at 
evening. 

As  I  spoke  our  youngest  daughter  brought 
me  the  sugar.  She  is  just  eighteen,  and  her 
name  should  be  Hebe.  I  took  a  lump  of 
sugar  and  looked  at  her.  She  had  never 
seemed  so  lovely,  and  as  I  dropped  the 
lump  in  my  cup  I  kissed  her.  I  glanced  at 
Prue  as  I  did  so.  The  dear  woman  smiled, 
but  did  not  answer  my  exclamation. 

Thus,  without  travelling,  I  travel,  and 
share  the  emotions  of  those  I  do  not  know. 
But  sometimes  the  old  longing  comes  over 
me  as  in  the  days  when  I  timidly  touched 
the  huge  East  Indiaman,  and  magnetically 
sailed  around  the  world. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  after  the  lovers  and 
I  waved  farewell  to  the  steamer,  and  while 
the  lovely  figures  standing  under  the  great 


gonfalon  were  as  vivid  in  my  mind  as  ever, 
that  a  day  of  premature  sunny  sadness,  like 
those  of  the  Indian  summer,  drew  me  away 
from  the  office  early  in  the  afternoon ;  for 
fortunately  it  is  our  dull  season  now,  and 
even  Titbottom  sometimes  leaves  the  office 
by  five  o'clock.  Although  why  he  should 
leave  it,  or  where  he  goes,  or  what  he  does, 
I  do  not  well  know.  Before  I  knew  him,  I 
used  sometimes  to  meet  him  with  a  man 
whom  I  was  afterwards  told  was  Bartleby, 
the  scrivener.  Even  then  it  seemed  to  me 
that  they  rather  clubbed  their  loneliness 
than  made  society  for  each  other.  Recently 
I  have  not  seen  Bartleby ;  but  Titbottom 
seems  no  more  solitary  because  he  is  alone. 

I  strolled  into  the  Battery  as  I  sauntered 
about.  Staten  Island  looked  so  alluring, 
tender-hued  with  summer  and  melting  in  the 
haze,  that  I  resolved  to  indulge  myself  in  a 
pleasure -trip.  It  was  a  little  selfish,  per 
haps,  to  go  alone,  but  I  looked  at  my  watch, 
and  saw  that  if  I  should  hurry  home  for 
Prue  the  trip  would  be  lost ;  then  I  should 
be  disappointed,  and  she  would  be  grieved. 

Ought  I  not  rather  (I  like  to  begin  ques 
tions  which  I  am  going  to  answer  affirm 
atively  with  ought)  to  take  the  trip  and 
recount  my  adventures  to  Prue  upon  my 
return,  whereby  I  should  actually  enjoy  the 
excursion  and  the  pleasure  of  telling  her  • 


while  she  would  enjoy  my  story  and  be  glad 
that  I  was  pleased  ?  Ought  I  wilfully  to 
deprive  us  both  of  this  various  enjoyment 
by  aiming  at  a  higher  which,  in  losing,  we 
should  lose  all  ? 

Unfortunately,  just  as  I  was  triumphantly 
answering  "  Certainly  not !"  another  ques 
tion  marched  into  my  mind,  escorted  by  a 
very  defiant  ought. 

"Ought  I  to  go  when  I  have  such  a  de 
bate  about  it  ?" 

But  while  I  was  perplexed,  and  scoffing 
at  my  own  scruples,  the  ferry-bell  suddenly 
rang  and  answered  all  my  questions.  In 
voluntarily  I  hurried  on  board.  The  boat 
slipped  from  the  dock.  I  went  up  on  deck 
to  enjoy  the  view  of  the  city  from  the  bay, 
but  just  as  [  sat  down,  and  meant  to  have 
said  "  how  beautiful  !"  I  found  myself  ask 
ing  : 

'  Ought  I  to  have  come  ?" 

Lost  in  perplexing  debate,  I  saw 
little  of  the  scenery  of  the  bay; 
but  the  remembrance  of  Prue  and 
the    gentle    influ 
ence  of  the  day 
plunged    me    into 
a   mood    of  pensive    reverie, 
which  nothing  tended  to  de 
stroy    until    we    suddenly    ar 
rived  at  the  landing. 


As  I  was  stepping  ashore  I  was  greeted 
by  Mr.  Bourne,  who  passes  the  summer  on 
the  island,  and  who  hospitably  asked  if  I 
were  going  his  way.  His  way  was  towards 
the  southern  end  of  the  island,  and  I  said 
yes.  His  pockets  were  full  of  papers  and 
his  brow  of  wrinkles  ;  so  when  we  reached 
the  point  where  he  should  turn  off,  I  asked 
him  to  let  me  alight,  although  he  was  very 
anxious  to  carry  me  wherever  I  was  going. 

''  I  am  only  strolling  about,"  I  answered, 
as  I  clambered  carefully  out  of  the  wagon. 

"  Strolling  about  ?"  asked  he,  in  a  be 
wildered  manner  ;  "  do  people  stroll  about, 
nowadays?'' 

"  Sometimes,"  I  answered,  smiling,  as  I 
pulled  my  trousers  down  over  my  boots,  for 
they  had   dragged  up  as  I  stepped  out  of 
the  wagon,  "  and,  besides,  what 
can   an   old   book-keeper   do 
better    in    the    dull    season 
than  stroll  about  this  pleas 
ant  island,  and  watch   the 
ships  at  sea  ?" 

Bourne  looked  at  me 
with  his  weary  eyes. 

'*  I'd  give  five  thousand 
dollars  a  year  for  a  dull 
season,"   said  he,  "  but  as 
for  strolling.  I've  forgotten 
how." 


As  he  spoke,  his  eyes  wandered  dreamily 
across  the  fields  and  woods,  and  were  fast 
ened  upon  the  distant  sails. 

"  It  is  pleasant,"  he  said,  musingly,  and 
fell  into  silence.  But  I  had  no  time  to 
spare,  so  I  wished  him  good-afternoon. 

"  I  hope  your  wife  is  well,"  said  Bourne 
to  me,  as  I  turned  away.  Poor  Bourne ! 
He  drove  on  alone  in  his  wagon. 

But  I  made  haste  to  the  most  solitary 
point  upon  the  southern  shore,  and  there 
sat,  glad  to  be  so  near  the  sea.  There  was 
that  warm,  sympathetic  silence  in  the  air 
that  gives  to  Indian-summer  days  almost  a 
human  tenderness  of  feeling.  A  delicate 
haze,  that  seemed  only  the  kindly  air  made 
visible,  hung  over  the  sea.  The  water  lap 
ped  languidly  among  the  rocks,  and  the 
voices  of  children  in  a  boat  beyond  rang 
musically,  and  gradually  receded  until  they 
were  lost  in  the  distance. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  was  aware  of 
the  outline  of  a  large  ship,  drawn  vaguely 
upon  the  mist,  which  I  supposed  at  first  to 
be  only  a  kind  of  mirage.  But  the  more 
steadfastly  I  gazed  the  more  distinct  it  be 
came,  and  I  could  no  longer  doubt  that  I 
saw  a  stately  ship  lying  at  anchor,  not  more 
than  half  a  mile  from  the  land. 

"  It  is  an  extraordinary  place  to  anchor," 
I  said  to  myself,  "  or  can  she  be  ashore  ?" 


There  were  no  signs  of  distress  ;  the  sails 
were  carefully  clewed  up,  and  there  were  no 
sailors  in  the  tops,  nor  upon  the  shrouds. 
A  flag,  of  which  I  could  not  see  the  device 
or  the  nation,  hung  heavily  at  the  stern,  and 
looked  as  if  it  had  fallen  asleep.  My  curios 
ity  began  to  be  singularly  excited.  The 
form  of  the  vessel  seemed  not  to  be  per 
manent  ;  but  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I 
was  sure  that  I  had  seen  half  a  dozen  dif 
ferent  ships.  As  I  gazed,  I  saw  no  more 
sails  nor  masts,  but  a  long  range  of  oars, 
flashing  like  a  golden  fringe,  or  straight  and 
stiff,  like  the  legs  of  a  sea-monster. 

"  It  is  some  bloated  crab,  or  lobster,  mag 
nified  by  the  mist,"  I  said  to  myself,  com 
placently. 

But   at   the    same    moment  there  was  a 
concentrated  flashing   and   blazing   in 
one  spot  among  the  rigging,  and  it 
was  as  if  I  saw  a  beatified  ram,  or, 
more  truly,  a   sheepskin,  splendid 
as  the  hair  of  Berenice. 

"Is  that  the  golden  fleece?"  I 
thought.     "But,  surely,  Jason   and 
the  Argonauts  have  gone  home  long 
since.     Do  people  go  on  gold-fleec 
ing  expeditions  now  ?"  I  asked  my 
self,  in  perplexity.     "  Can  this  be  a 
California  steamer  ?" 

How  could  I  have  thought  it  a 


steamer  ?  Did  I  not  see  those  sails,  "  thin 
and  sere  ?"  Did  I  not  feel  the  melancholy 
of  that  solitary  bark  ?  It  had  a  mystic 
aura;  a  boreal  brilliancy  shimmered  in  its 
wake,  for  it  was  drifting  seaward.  A  strange 
fear  curdled  along  my  veins.  That  summer 
sun  shone  cool.  The  weary,  battered  ship 
was  gashed,  as  if  gnawed  by  ice.  There 
was  terror  in  the  air,  as  a  "  skinny  hand  so 
brown''  waved  to  me  from  the  deck.  I  lay 
as  one  bewitched.  The  hand  of  the  ancient 
mariner  seemed  to  be  reaching  for  me,  like 
the  hand  of  death. 

Death  ?  Why,  as  I  was  inly  praying 
Prue's  forgiveness  for  my  solitary  ramble 
and  consequent  demise,  a  glance  like  the 
fulness  of  summer  splendor  gushed  over 
me ;  the  odor  of  flowers  and  of  Eastern  gums 
made  all  the  atmosphere.  I  breathed  the 
Orient,  and  lay  drunk  with  balm,  while  that 
strange  ship,  a  golden  galley  now,  with  glit 
tering  draperies  festooned  with  flowers, 
paced  to  the  measured  beat  of  oars  along 
the  calm,  and  Cleopatra  smiled  alluringly 
from  the  great  pageant's  heart. 

It  faded.  And  was  this  a  barge  for  summer 
waters,  this  peculiar  ship  I  saw  ?  It  had  a 
ruined  dignity,  a  cumbrous  grandeur,  al 
though  its  masts  were  shattered,  and  its 
sails  rent.  It  hung  preternaturally  still 
upon  the  sea,  as  if  tormented  and  exhaust- 

116 


ed  by  long  driving  and  drifting.  I  saw  no 
sailors,  but  a  great  Spanish  ensign  floated 
over  and  waved — a  funereal  plume.  I  knew 
it  then.  The  Armada  was  long  since  scat 
tered  ;  but,  floating  far 

"  on  desolate,  rainy  seas," 

lost  for  centuries,  and  again  restored  to 
sight,  here  lay  one  of  the  fated  ships  of 


Spain.  The  huge  galleon  seemed  to  fill  all 
the  air,  built  up  against  the  sky,  like  the 
gilded  ships  of  Claude  Lorraine  against  the 
sunset. 

But  it  fled,  for  now  a  black  flag  fluttered 
at  the  mast-head — a  long,  low  vessel  darted 
swiftly  where  the  last  ship  lay ;  there  came 
117 


a  shrill,  piping  whistle,  the  clash  of  cutlasses, 
fierce  ringing  oaths,  sharp  pistol  cracks,  the 
thunder  of  command,  and  over  all  the  gusty 
yell  of  a  demoniac  chorus, 

"  My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  when  I  sailed." 

— There  were  no  clouds  longer,  but  under  a 
serene  sky  I  saw  a  bark  moving  with  festal 
pomp,  thronged  with  grave  senators  in  flow 
ing  robes,  and  one  with  ducal  bonnet  in  the 
midst,  holding  a  ring.  The  smooth  bark 
swam  upon  a  sea  like  that  of  southern  lati 
tudes.  I  saw  the  Bucentoro  and  the  nup 
tials  of  Venice  and  the  Adriatic. 

Who  were  those  coming  over  the  side  ? 
Who  crowded  the  boats  and  sprang  into 
the  water — men  in  old  Spanish  armor,  with 
plumes  and  swords,  and  bearing  a  glittering 
cross  ?  Who  was  he  standing  upon  the  deck 
with  folded  arms  and  gazing  towards  the 
shore,  as  lovers  on  their  mistresses  and 
martyrs  upon  heaven  ?  Over  what  distant 
and  tumultuous  seas  had  this  small  craft 
escaped  from  other  centuries  and  distant 
shores  ?  What  sounds  of  foreign  hymns, 
forgotten  now,  were  these,  and  what  solem 
nity  of  debarkation  ?  Was  this  grave  form 
Columbus  ? 

Yet  these  were  not  so  Spanish  as  they 
seemed  just  now.  This  group  of  stern-faced 


men  with  high  peaked  hats,  who  knelt  upon 
the  cold  deck  and  looked  out  upon  a  shore 
which,  I  could  see  by  their  joyless  smile  of 
satisfaction,  was  rough  and  bare  and  for 
bidding.  In  that  soft  afternoon,  standing 
in  mournful  groups  upon  the  small  deck, 
why  did  they  seem  to  me  to  be  seeing  the 
sad  shores  of  wintry  New  England  ?  That 
phantom-ship  could  not  be  the  Mayflower! 

I  gazed  long  upon  the  shifting  illusion. 

"If  I  should  board  this  ship,"  I  asked 
myself,  "where  should  I  go?  whom  should 
I  meet?  what  should  I  see  ?  Is  not  this  the 


vessel  that  shall  carry  me  to  rny  Europe,  my 
foreign  countries,  my  impossible  India,  the 
Atlantis  that  I  have  lost  ?" 

As  I  sat  staring  at  it  I  could  not  but 
wonder  whether  Bourne  had  seen  this  sail 
when  he  looked  upon  the  water  ?  Does  he 
see  such  sights  every  day,  because  he  lives 
down  here  ?  Is  it  not,  perhaps,  a  magic 
yacht  of  his  ;  and  does  he  slip  off  privately 
after  business  hours  to  Venice  and  Spain 
and  Egypt,  perhaps  to  El  Dorado  ?  Does 
he  run  races  with  Ptolemy,  Philopater  and 
Hiero  of  Syracuse,  rare  regattas  on  fabulous 
seas? 

Why  not  ?  He  is  a  rich  man,  too,  and  why 
should  not  a  New  York  merchant  do  what 
a  Syracuse  tyrant  and  an  Egyptian  prince 
did  ?  Has  Bourne's  yacht  those  sumptuous 
chambers,  like  Philopater's  galley,  of  which 
the  greater  part  was  made  of  split  cedar, 
and  of  Milesian  cypress  ;  and  has  he  twenty 
doors  put  together  with  beams  of  citron- 
wood,  with  many  ornaments  ?  Has  the  roof 
of  his  cabin  a  carved  golden  face,  and  is 
his  sail  linen  with  a  purple  fringe  ? 

"I  suppose  it  is  so,"  I  said  to  myself,  as 
I  looked  wistfully  at  the  ship,  which  began 
to  glimmer  and  melt  in  the  haze. 

"  It  certainly  is  not  a  fishing-smack  ?"  I 
asked,  doubtfully. 

No,  it  must  be  Bourne's  magic  yacht ;  I 


was  sure  of  it.  I  could  not  help  laughing 
at  poor  old  Hiero,  whose  cabins  were  divided 
into  many  rooms,  with  floors  composed  of 
mosaic  work,  of  all  kinds  of  stones  tessel 
lated.  And  on  this  mosaic  the  whole  story 
of  the  Iliad  was  depicted  in  a  marvellous 
manner.  He  had  gardens  "of  all  sorts  of 
most  wonderful  beauty,  enriched  with  all 
sorts  of  plants,  and  shadowed  by  roofs  of 
lead  or  tiles.  And,  besides  this,  there  were 
tents  roofed  with  boughs  of  white  ivy  and 
of  the  vine — the  roots  of  which  derived  their 
moisture  from  casks  full  of  earth,  and  were 
watered  in  the  same  manner  as  the  gardens. 
There  were  temples,  also,  with  doors  of  ivory 
and  citron-wood,  furnished  in  the  most  ex 
quisite  manner,  with  pictures  and  statues, 
and  with  goblets  and  vases  of  every  form 
and  shape  imaginable." 

"  Poor  Bourne  !"  I  said,  "  I  suppose  his 
is  finer  than  Hiero's,  which  is  a  thousand 
years  old.  Poor  Bourne  !  I  don't  wonder 
that  his  eyes  are  weary,  and  that  he  would 
pay  so  dearly  for  a  day  of  leisure.  Dear  me  ! 
is  it  one  of  the  prices  that  must  be  paid 
for  wealth,  the  keeping  up  a  magic  yacht  ?" 

Involuntarily,  I  had  asked  the  question 
aloud. 

"The  magic  yacht  is  not  Bourne's,"  an 
swered  a  familiar  voice.  I  looked  up,  and 
Titbottom  stood  by  my  side.  "  Do  you  not 
123 


know  that  all  Bourne's  money  would  not 
buy  the  yacht  ?"  asked  he.  "  He  cannot 
even  see  it.  And  if  he  could,  it  would  be 
no  magic  yacht  to  him,  but  only  a  battered 
and  solitary  hulk." 

The  haze  blew  gently  away  as  Titbottom 
spoke,  and  there  lay  my  Spanish  galleon, 
my  Bucentoro,  my  Cleopatra's  galley,  Colum- 
bus's  Santa  Maria,  and  the  Pilgrims'  May 
flower,  an  old  bleaching  wreck  upon  the 
beach. 

"  Do  you  suppose  any  true  love  is  in 
vain  ?"  asked  Titbottom,  solemnly,  as  he 
stood  bareheaded,  and  the  soft  sunset  wind 
played  with  his  few  hairs.  "  Could  Cleopatra 
smile  upon  Antony,  and  the  moon  upon 
Endymion,  and  the  sea  not  love  its  lovers  ?" 

The  fresh  air  breathed  upon  our  faces  as 
he  spoke.  I  might  have  sailed  in  Hiero's 
ship,  or  in  Roman  galleys,  had  I  lived  long 
centuries  ago,  and  been  born  a  nobleman. 
But  would  it  be  so  sweet  a  remembrance, 
that  of  lying  on  a  marble  couch,  under  a 
golden-faced  roof,  and  within  doors  of  citron- 
wood  and  ivory,  and  sailing  in  that  state  to 
greet  queens  who  are  mummies  now,  as  that 
of  seeing  those  fair  figures  standing  under 
the  great  gonfalon,  themselves  as  lovely  as 
Egyptian  belles,  and  going  to  see  more  than 
Egypt  dreamed  ? 

The    yacht    was     mine,   then,    and    not 
124 


Bourne's.  I  took  Titbottom's  arm,  and  we 
sauntered  towards  the  ferry.  What  sumpt 
uous  sultan  was  I,  with  this  sad  vizier  ?  My 
languid  odalisque,  the  sea,  lay  at  my  feet  as 
we  advanced,  and  sparkled  all  over  with  a 
sunset  smile.  Had  I  trusted  myself  to  her 
arms,  to  be  borne  to  the  realms  that  I  shall 
never  see,  or  sailed  long  voyages  towards 
Cathay,  I  am  not  sure  I  should  have  brought 
a  more  precious  present  to  Prue  than  the 
story  of  that  afternoon. 

"Ought  I  to  have  gone  alone?"  I  asked 
her,  as  I  ended. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  gone  with  you,"  she 
replied,  "for  I  had  work  to  do.  But  how 
strange  that  you  should  see  such  things  at 
Staten  Island.  I  never  did,  Mr.  Titbottom," 
said  she,  turning  to  my  deputy  whom  I  had 
asked  to  tea. 

"  Madam,"  answered  Titbottom,  with  a 
kind  of  wan  and  quaint  dignity,  so  that  I 
could  not  help  thinking  he  must  have  ar 
rived  in  that  strange  ship  from  the  Spanish 
Armada,  "neither  did  Mr.  Bourne." 


TITBOTTOM'S   SPECTACLES 


In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio." 

— HAMLET. 


PRUE  and  I  do  not  entertain  much ;  our 
means  forbid  it.  In  truth,  other  people 
entertain  for  us.  We  enjoy  that  hospitality 
of  which  no  account  is  made.  We  see  the 
show  and  hear  the  music  and  smell  the 
flowers  of  great  festivities,  tasting,  as  it 
were,  the  drippings  from  rich  dishes. 

Our  own  dinner-service  is  remarkably 
plain,  our  dinners,  even  on  state  occasions, 
are  strictly  in  keeping,  and  almost  our  only 
guest  is  Titbottom.  I  buy  a  handful  of  roses 
as  1  come  up  from  the  office,  perhaps,  and 
Prue  arranges  them  so  prettily  in  a  glass 
dish  for  the  centre  of  the  table  that,  even 
when  I  have  hurried  out  to  see  Aurelia  step 
into  her  carriage  to  go  out  to  dine,  I  have 
thought  that  the  bouquet  she  carried  was 
not  more  beautiful  because  it  was  more 
costly. 

I  grant  that  it  was  more  harmonious  with 
her  superb  beauty  and  her  rich  attire.  And 
I  have  no  doubt  that  if  Aurelia  knew  the 
old  man,  whom  she  must  have  seen  so  often 


watching  her,  and  his  wife,  who  ornaments 
her  sex  with  as  much  sweetness,  although 
with  less  splendor,  than  Aurelia  herself,  she 
would  also  acknowledge  that  the  nosegay 
of  roses  was  as  fine  and  fit  upon  their  table 
as  her  own  sumptuous  bouquet  is  for  her. 
I  have  so  much  faith  in  the  perception  of 
that  lovely  lady. 

It  is  my  habit  —  I  hope  I  may  say  my 
nature — to  believe  the  best  of  people  rath 
er  than  the  worst.  If  I  thought  that  all 
this  sparkling  setting  of  beauty,  this  fine 
fashion — these  blazing  jewels  and  lustrous 
silks  and  airy  gauzes,  embellished  with  gold- 
threaded  embroidery  and  wrought  in  a  thou 
sand  exquisite  elaborations,  so  that  I  cannot 
see  one  of  those  charming  girls  pass  me  by 
without  thanking  God  for  the  vision  —  if  I 
thought  that  this  was  all,  and  that,  under 
neath  her  lace  flounces  and  diamond  brace 
lets,  Aurelia  was  a  sullen,  selfish  woman, 
then  I  should  turn  sadly  homeward,  for  I 
should  see  that  her  jewels  were  flashing 
scorn  upon  the  object  they  adorned,  that 
her  laces  were  of  a  more  exquisite  loveli 
ness  than  the  woman  whom  they  merely 
touched  with  a  superficial  grace.  It  would 
be  like  a  gayly- decorated  mausoleum  — 
bright  to  see,  but  silent  and  dark  within. 

"  Great   excellences,   my   dear   Prue,"   I 

sometimes  allow  myself  to  say,  "  lie  con- 
130 


cealed  in  the  depths  of  character  like  pearls 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Under  the  laugh 
ing,  glancing  surface,  how  little  they  are 
suspected !  Perhaps  love  is  nothing  else 
than  the  sight  of  them  by  one  person. 
Hence  every  man's  mistress  is  apt  to  be 
an  enigma  to  everybody  else. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  when  Aurelia  is 
engaged,  people  will  say  she  is  a  most  ad 
mirable  girl,  certainly ;  but  they  cannot  un 
derstand  why  any  man  should  be  in  love 
with  her.  As  if  it  were  at  all  necessary  that 
they  should !  And  her  lover,  like  a  boy 
who  finds  a  gem  in  the  public  street,  and 
wonders  as  much  that  others  did  not  see  it 
as  that  he  did,  will  tremble  until  he  knows 
his  passion  is  returned ;  feeling,  of  course, 
that  the  whole  world  must  be  in  love  with 
this  paragon,  who  cannot  possibly  smile 
upon  anything  so  unworthy  as  he. 

"  I  hope,  therefore,  my  dear  Mrs.  Prue," 
I  continue,  and  my  wife  looks  up  with 
pleased  pride  from  her  work,  as  if  I  were 
such  an  irresistible  humorist,  "  you  will  al 
low  me  to  believe  that  the  depth  may  be 
calm,  although  the  surface  is  dancing.  If 
you  tell  me  that  Aurelia  is  but  a  giddy  girl, 
I  shall  believe  that  you  think  so.  But  I 
shall  know,  all  the  while,  what  profound 
dignity  and  sweetness  and  peace  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  her  character." 


I  say  such  things  to  Titbottom  during 
the  dull  season  at  the  office.  And  I  have 
known  him  sometimes  to  reply,  with  a  kind 
of  dry,  sad  humor,  not  as  if  he  enjoyed  the 
joke,  but  as  if  the  joke  must  be  made,  that 
he  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  be  dull  be 
cause  the  season  was  so. 

"And  what  do  I  know  of  Aurelia,  or  any 
other  girl?"  he  says  to  me,  with  that  ab 
stracted  air ;  "  I,  whose  Aurelias  were  of 
another  century  and  another  zone." 

Then  he  falls  into  a  silence  which  it 
seems  quite  profane  to  interrupt.  But  as 
we  sit  upon  our  high  stools  at  the  desk  op 
posite  each  other — I  leaning  upon  my  elbows 
and  looking  at  him  ;  he,  with  sidelong  face, 
glancing  out  of  the  window,  as  if  it  com 
manded  a  boundless  landscape  instead  of 
a  dim,  dingy  office  court — I  cannot  refrain 
from  saying: 

"Well?" 

He  turns  slowly,  and  I  go  chatting  on— a 
little  too  loquacious,  perhaps  —  about  those 
young  girls.  But  I  know  that  Titbottom 
regards  such  an  excess  as  venial,  for  his 
sadness  is  so  sweet  that  you  could  believe 
it  the  reflection  of  a  smile  from  long,  long 
years  ago. 

One  day,  after  I  had  been  talking  for  a 
long  time,  and  we  had  put  up  our  books  and 
were  preparing  to  leave,  he  stood  for  some 


time  by  the  window,  gazing  with  a  drooping 
intentness,  as  if  he  really  saw  something 
more  than  the  dark  court,  and  said,  slowly : 
"  Perhaps  you  would  have  different  im 
pressions  of  things  if  you  saw  them  through 
my  spectacles." 

133 


There  was  no  change  in  his  expression. 
He  still  looked  from  the  window,  and  I 
said : 

"  Titbottom,  I  did  not  know  that  you 
used  glasses.  I  have  never  seen  you  wear 
ing  spectacles." 

"  No,  I  don't  often  wear  them.  I  am  not 
very  fond  of  looking  through  them.  But 
sometimes  an  irresistible  necessity  com 
pels  me  to  put  them  on,  and  I  cannot  help 
seeing." 

Titbottom  sighed. 

"  Is  it  so  grievous  a  fate  to  see  ?"  in 
quired  I. 

"Yes,  through  my  spectacles,"  he  said, 
turning  slowly,  and  looking  at  me  with  wan 
solemnity. 

It  grew  dark  as  we  stood  in  the  office 
talking,  and,  taking  our  hats,  we  went  out 
together.  The  narrow  street  of  business  was 
deserted.  The  heavy  iron  shutters  were 
gloomily  closed  over  the  windows.  From 
one  or  two  offices  struggled  the  dim  gleam 
of  an  early  candle,  by  whose  light  some 
perplexed  accountant  sat  belated,  and  hunt 
ing  for  his  error.  A  careless  clerk  passed, 
whistling.  But  the  great  tide  of  life  had 
ebbed.  We  heard  its  roar  far  away,  and 
the  sound  stole  into  that  silent  street  like 
the  murmur  of  the  ocean  into  an  inland 
dell. 


"  You  will  come  and  dine  with  us,  Titbot- 
tom  ?" 

He  assented  by  continuing  to  walk  with 
me,  and  I  think  we  were  both  glad  when  we 
reached  the  house,  and  Prue  came  to  meet 
us,  saying : 

"  Do  you  know  I  hoped  you  would  bring 
Mr.  Titbottom  to  dine  ?" 

Titbottom  smiled  gently,  and  answered  : 

"  He  might  have  brought  his  spectacles 
with  him,  and  have  been  a  happier  man 
for  it." 

Prue  looked  a  little  puzzled. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  ''  you  must  know  that 
our  friend,  Mr.  Titbottom,  is  the  happy  pos 
sessor  of  a  pair  of  wonderful  spectacles.  I 
have  never  seen  them,  indeed;  and,  from 
what  he  says,  I  should  be  rather  afraid  of 
being  seen  by  them.  Most  short-sighted 
persons  are  very  glad  to  have  the  help  of 
glasses  ;  but  Mr.  Titbottom  seems  to  find 
very  little  pleasure  in  his." 

"  It  is  because  they  make  him  too  far- 
sighted,  perhaps,"  interrupted  Prue,  quietly, 
as  she  took  the  silver  soup- ladle  from  the 
sideboard. 

We  sipped  our  wine  after  dinner,  and 
Prue  took  her  work.  Can  a  man  be  too 
far-sighted?  I  did  not  ask  the  question 
aloud.  The  very  tone  in  which  Prue  had 
spoken  convinced  me  that  he  might. 

'35 


"At  least,"  I  said,  "Mr.  Titbottom  will 
not  refuse  to  tell  us  the  history  of  his  mys 
terious  spectacles.  I  have  known  plenty  of 
magic  in  eyes  (and  I  glanced  at  the  tender 
blue  eyes  of  Prue),  but  I  have  not  heard  of 
any  enchanted  glasses." 

"  Yet  you  must  have  seen  the  glass  in 
which  your  wife  looks  every  morning,  and, 
I  take  it,  that  glass  must  be  daily  enchant 
ed,"  said  Titbottom,  with  a  bow  of  quaint 
respect  to  my  wife. 

I  do  not  think  I  have  seen  such  a  blush 
upon  Prue's  cheek  since — well,  since  a  great 
many  years  ago. 

"  I  will  gladly  tell  you  the  history  of  my 
spectacles,"  began  Titbottom.  "  It  is  very 
simple;  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  a  great 
many  other  people  have  not  a  pair  of  the 
same  kind.  I  have  never,  indeed,  heard  of 
them  by  the  gross,  like  those  of  our  young 
friend  Moses,  the  son  of  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field.  In  fact,  I  think  a  gross  would  be  quite 
enough  to  supply  the  world.  It  is  a  kind 
of  article  for  which  the  demand  does  not 
increase  with  use.  If  we  should  all  wear 
spectacles  like  mine  we  should  never  smile 
any  more.  Or — I  am  not  quite  sure — we 
should  all  be  very  happy." 

"A  very  important  difference,"  said  Prue, 
counting  her  stitches. 

"  You  know  my  grandfather  Titbottom 
136 


was    a  West   Indian.      A    large    proprietor 
and  an  easy  man,  he  basked  in  the  tropical 
sun,  leading  his  quiet,  luxurious  life.     He 
lived  much  alone,  and  was  what  people  call 
eccentric — by  which  I  understand  that  he 
was  very  much   himself,  and,  refusing  the 
influence    of   other   people,  they   had   their 
revenges,  and  called  him 
names.    It  is  a  habit  not 
exclusively  trop 
ical.     I  think  I 


have  seen  the  same  thing  even  in  this  city. 
"  But  he  was  greatly  beloved — my  bland 
and  bountiful  grandfather.  He  was  so  large- 
hearted  and  open-handed.  He  was  so  friend 
ly  and  thoughtful  and  genial  that  even  his 
jokes  had  the  air  of  graceful  benedictions. 
He  did  not  seem  to  grow  old,  and  he  was 
one  of  those  persons  who  never  appear  to 
have  been  very  young.  He  flourished  in  a 
perennial  maturity,  an  immortal  middle-age. 


"  My  grandfather  lived  upon  one  of  the 
small  islands— St.  Kitt's,  perhaps — and  his 
domain  extended  to  the  sea.  His  house,  a 
rambling  West  Indian  mansion,  was  sur 
rounded  with  deep,  spacious  piazzas,  cover 
ed  with  luxurious  lounges,  among  which  one 
capacious  chair  was  his  peculiar  seat.  They 
tell  me  he  used  sometimes  to  sit  there  for 
the  whole  day,  his  great  soft,  brown  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  sea,  watching  the  specks 
of  sails  that  flashed  upon  the  horizon,  while 
the  evanescent  expressions  chased  each  oth 
er  over  his  placid  face  as  if  it  reflected  the 
calm  and  changing  sea  before  him. 

"  His  morning  costume  was  an  ample 
dressing-gown  of  gorgeously -flowered  siik, 
and  his  morning  was  very  apt  to  last  all 
clay.  He  rarely  read ;  but  he  paced  the 
great  piazza  for  hours,  with  his  hands  buried 
deep  in  the  pockets  of  his  dressing-gown, 
and  an  air  of  sweet  reverie,  which  any  book 
must  be  a  very  entertaining  one  to  produce. 

"  Society,  of  course,  he  saw  little.  There 
was  some  slight  apprehension  that,  if  he 
were  bidden  to  social  entertainments,  he 
might  forget  his  coat,  or  arrive  without  some 
other  essential  part  of  his  dress  ;  and  there 
is  a  sly  tradition  in  the  Titbottom  family 
that  once,  having  been  invited  to  a  ball  in 
honor  of  a  new  Governor  of  the  island,  my 
grandfather  Titbottom  sauntered  into  the 
138 


hall    towards    midnight, 
wrapped  in  the  gorgeous 
flowers  of  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  with   his 
hands  buried  in  the 
pockets,    as    usual. 
There    was    great   ex 
citement  among  the 
guests,  and  immense 
deprecation  of  guber 
natorial   ire.     Fortun 
ately,  it  happened   that 
the  Governor    and    my 
grandfather    were    old 
friends,  and    there  was 
no  offence.    But,  as  they 
were  conversing  together, 
one  of  the  distressed  man 
agers   cast  indignant  glances 
at  the  brilliant  costume  of  my 
grandfather,  who  summoned  him  and  asked, 
courteously : 

"  '  Did  you  invite  me  or  my  coat  ?' 

"'You,  in  a  proper  coat,'  said  the  manager. 

"  The  Governor  smiled  approvingly,  and 
looked  at  my  grandfather. 

"  '  My  friend,'  said  he  to  the  manager,  '  I 
beg  your  pardon,  I  forgot.' 

"  The  next  day  my  grandfather  was  seen 
promenading   in   full   ball -dress  along  the 
streets  of  the  little  town. 
139 


"'They  ought  to  know,'  said  he,  'that  I 
have  a  proper  coat,  and  that  not  contempt, 
nor  poverty,  but  forgetfulness,  sent  me  to  a 
ball  in  my  dressing-gown.' 

"  He  did  not  much  frequent  social  festi 
vals  after  this  failure,  but  he  always  told  the 
story  with  satisfaction  and  a  quiet  smile. 

"  To  a  stranger,  life  upon  those  little  isl 
ands  is  uniform  even  to  weariness.  But  the 
old  native  dons,  like  my  grandfather,  ripen 
in  the  prolonged  sunshine,  like  the  turtle 
upon  the  Bahama  banks,  nor  know  of  exist 
ence  more  desirable.  Life  in  the  tropics  I 
take  to  be  a  placid  torpidity. 

"  During  the  long,  warm  mornings  of 
nearly  half  a  century  my  grandfather  Tit- 
bottom  had  sat  in  his  dressing-gown  and 
gazed  at  the  sea.  But  one  calm  June  day, 
as  he  slowly  paced  the  piazza  after  breakfast, 
his  dreamy  glance  was  arrested  by  a  little 
vessel,  evidently  nearing  the  shore.  He 
called  for  his  spy-glass,  and,  surveying  the 
craft,  saw  that  she  came  from  the  neighbor 
ing  island.  She  glided  smoothly,  slowly, 
over  the  summer  sea.  The  warm  morning 

O 

air  was  sweet  with  perfumes  and  silent  with 
heat  The  sea  sparkled  languidly,  and  the 
brilliant  blue  sky  hung  cloudlessly  over. 
Scores  of  little  island  vessels  had  my  grand 
father  seen  coming  over  the  horizon  and 
cast  anchor  in  the  port.  Hundreds  of  sum- 


mer  mornings  had  the  white  sails  flashed 
and  faded,  like  vague  faces  through  forgot 
ten  dreams.  But  this  time  he  laid  down  the 
spy-glass  and  leaned  against  a  column  of  the 
piazza,  and  watched  the  vessel  with  an  in- 
tentness  that  he  could  not  explain.  She 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  a  graceful  spectacle 
in  the  dazzling  morning. 

"  '  Decidedly,  I  must  step  down  and  see 
about  that  vessel,'  said  my  grandfather  Tit- 
bottom. 

"  He  gathered  his  ample  dressing-gown 
about  him  and  stepped  from  the  piazza,  with 
no  other  protection  from  the  sun  than  the 
little  smoking- cap  upon  his  head.  His  face 
wore  a  calm,  beaming  smile,  as  if  he  loved 
the  whole  world.  He  was  not  an  old  man, 
but  there  was  almost  a  patriarchal  pathos 
in  his  expression  as  he  sauntered  along 
in  the  sunshine  towards  the 
shore.  A  group  of  idle  gaz 
ers  was  collected  to  watch 
the  arrival.  The  little  vessel 
furled  her  sails  and  drifted 
slowly  landward,  and,  as  she 
was  of  very  light  draught, 
she  came  close  to  the 
shelving  shore.  A  long 
plank  was  put  out  from 
her  side  and  the  de 
barkation  commenced. 


"  My  grandfather  Titbottom  stood  looking 
on  to  see  the  passengers  as  they  passed. 
There  were  but  a  few  of  them,  and  mostly 
traders  from  the  neighboring  island.  But 
suddenly  the  face  of  a  young  girl  appeared 
over  the  side  of  the  vessel  and  she  stepped 
upon  the  plank  to  descend.  My  grandfather 
Titbottom  instantly  advanced,  and.  moving 
briskly,  reached  the  top  of  the  plank  at  the 
same  moment,  and  with  the  old  tassel  of  his 
cap  Hashing  in  the  sun.  and  one  hand  in 
the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown,  with  the 
other  he  handed  the  young  lady  carefully 
down  the  plank.  That  young  lady  was  after 
wards  my  grandmother  Titbottom. 

"  For  over  the  gleaming  sea  which  he  had 
watched  so  long,  and  which  seemed  thus  to 
reward  his  patient  gaze,  came  his  bride  that 
sunny  morning. 

"'Of  course  we  are  happy.' he  used  to 
say  to  her.  after  they  were  married  :  'for  you 
are  the  gift  of  the  sun  1  have  loved  so  lon«j 
and  so  well/  And  my  grandfather  Titbot 
tom  would  lay  his  hand  so  tenderly  upon 
the  golden  hair  of  his  young  bride  that  you 
could  fancy  him  a  devout  Parsee  caressing 
sunbeams. 

"  There  were  endless  festivities  upon  occa 
sion  of  the  marriage  :  and  my  grandfather 
did  not  go  to  one  of  them  in  his  dressing- 
gown.  The  gentle  sweetness  of  his  wife 


melted  every  earth  into  love  and  sympathy. 
He  was  much  older  than  she,  without  doubt. 
But  age,  as  he  used  to  say  with  a  smile  of 
immortal  youth,  is  a  matter  of  feeling,  not 
of  years. 

'•And  if,  sometimes,  as  she  sat  by  his  side 
on  the  piazza,  her  fancy  looked  through  her 
eyes  upon  that  summer  sea,  and  saw  a  young 
er  lover,  perhaps  some  one  of  those  graceful 
and  glowing  heroes  who  occupy  the  fore 
ground  of  all  young  maidens'  visions  by  the 
sea,  yet  she  could  not  find  one  more  gener 
ous  and  gracious,  nor  fancy  one  more  worthy 
and  loving  than  my  grandfather  Titbottom. 

"And  if  in  the  moonlit  midnight,  while 
he  lay  calmly  sleeping,  she  leaned  out  of  the 
window  and  sank  into  vague  reveries  of 
sweet  possibility,  and  watched  the  gleaming 
path  of  the  moonlight  upon  the  water  until 
the  dawn  glided  over  it — it  was  only  that 
mood  of  nameless  regret  and  longing  which 
underlies  all  human  happiness ;  or  it  was 
the  vision  of  that  life  of  cities  and  the  world 
which  she  had  never  seen,  but  of  which  she 
had  often  read,  and  which  looked  very  fair 
and  alluring  across  the  sea  to  a  girlish  im 
agination  which  knew  that  it  should  never 
see  the  reality. 

'•These  West  Indian  years  were  the  great 
days  of  the  family,"  said  Titbottom,  with  an 
air  of  majestic  and  regal  regret,  pausing  and 


musing  in  our  little  parlor  like  a  late  Stuart 
in  exile  remembering  England. 

Prue  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work  and 
looked  at  him  with  subdued  admiration  ;  for 
I  have  observed  that,  like  the  rest  of  her 
sex,  she  has  a  singular  sympathy  with  the 
representative  of  a  reduced  family. 

Perhaps  it  is  their  finer  perception  which 
leads  these  tender-hearted  women  to  recog;- 

o 

nize  the  divine  right  of  social  superiority  so 
much  more  readily  than  we ;  and  yet,  much 
as  Titbottom  was  enhanced  in  my  wife's  ad 
miration  by  the  discovery  that  his  dusky 
sadness  of  nature  and  expression  was,  as  it 
were,  the  expiring  gleam  and  late  twilight 
of  ancestral  splendors,  I  doubt  if  Mr.  Bourne 
for  that  reason  would  have  preferred  him 
for  book-keeper.  In  truth,  I  have  observed 
down-town  that  the  fact  of  your  ancestors 
doing  nothing  is  not  considered  good  proof 
that  you  can  do  anything. 

But  Prue  and  her  sex  regard  sentiment 
more  than  action,  and  I  understand  easily 
enough  why  she  is  never  tired  of  hearing 
me  read  of  Prince  Charlie.  If  Titbottom 
had  been  only  a  little  younger,  a  little  hand 
somer,  a  little  more  gallantly  dressed — in 
fact,  a  little  more  of  a  Prince  Charlie,  I  am 
sure  her  eyes  would  not  have  fallen  again 
upon  her  work  so  tranquilly  as  he  resumed 
his  story. 


"  I  can  remember  my  grandfather  Titbot- 
tom,  although  I  was  a  very  young  child,  and 
he  was  a  very  old  man.  My  young  mother 
and  my  young  grandmother  are  very  dis 
tinct  figures  in  my  memory,  ministering  to 
the  old  gentleman,  wrapped  in  his  dressing- 
gown  and  seated  upon  the  piazza.  I  re 
member  his  white  hair  and  his  calm  smile, 
and  how,  not  long  before  he  died,  he  called 
me  to  him,  and,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
head,  said  to  me  : 

"  ;  My  child,  the  world  is  not  this  great 
sunny  piazza,  nor  life  the  fairy  stories  which 
the  women  tell  you  here,  as  you  sit  in  their 
laps.  I  shall  soon  be  gone,  but  I  want  to 
leave  with  you  some  memento  of  my  love 
for  you,  and  I  know  of 
nothing  more  valuable 
than  these  specta 
cles,  which  your 
grandmother  brought 
from  her  native  isl 
and  when  she  arrived 
here  one  fine  sum 
mer  morning  long 
ago.  I  cannot  tell 
whether,  when  you 
grow  older,  you 
will  regard  them 
as  a  gift  of  the 
greatest  value,  or 


as  something  that  you   had  been   happier 
never  to  have  possessed.' 

"  'But,  grandpapa,  I  am  not  short-sighted.' 

"  '  My  son,  are  you  not  human  ?'  said  the 
old  gentleman  ;  and  how  shall  I  ever  forget 
the  thoughtful  sadness  with  which,  at  the 
same  time,  he  handed  me  the  spectacles. 

"  Instinctively  I  put  them  on  and  looked 
at  my  grandfather.  But  I  saw  no  grand 
father,  no  piazza,  no  flowered  dressing-gown; 
1  saw  only  a  luxuriant  palm-tree,  waving 
broadly  over  a  tranquil  landscape ;  pleasant 
homes  clustered  around  it ;  gardens  teem 
ing  with  fruit  and  flowers ;  flocks  quietly 
feeding ;  birds  wheeling  and  chirping.  I 
heard  children's  voices  and  the  low  lullaby 
of  happy  mothers.  The  sound  of  cheerful 
singing  came,  wafted  from  distant  fields 
upon  the  light  breeze.  Golden  harvests 
glistened  out  of  sight,  and  I  caught  their 
rustling  whispers  of  prosperity.  A  warm, 
mellow  atmosphere  bathed  the  whole. 

"  I  have  seen  copies  of  the  landscapes  of 
the  Italian  painter  Claude,  which  seemed  to 
me  faint  reminiscences  of  that  calm  and 
happy  vision.  But  all  this  peace  and  pros 
perity  seemed  to  flow  from  the  spreading 
palm  as  from  a  fountain. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  looked,  but  I 
had,  apparently,  no  power,  as  I  had  no  will, 
to  remove  the  spectacles.  What  a  wonder- 


ful  island  must  Nevis  be,  thought  I,  if  peo 
ple  carry  such  pictures  in  their  pockets,  only 
by  buying  a  pair  of  spectacles  !  What  won 
der  that  my  dear  grandmother  Titbottom 
has  lived  such  a  placid  life,  and  has  blessed 
us  all  with  her  sunny  temper,  when  she  has 
lived  surrounded  by  such  images  of  peace  ! 

"  My  grandfather  died.  But  still,  in  the 
warm  morning  sunshine  upon  the  piazza,  I 
felt  his  placid  presence,  and  as  I  crawled 
into  his  great  chair  and  drifted  on  in  reverie 
through  the  still,  tropical  day,  it  was  as  if 
his  soft,  dreamy  eye  had  passed  into  my 
soul.  My  grandmother  cherished  his  mem 
ory  with  tender  regret.  A  violent  passion 
of  grief  for  his  loss  was  no  more  possible 
than  for  the  pensive  decay  of  the  year. 

"We  have  no  portrait  of  him;  but  I  see 
always,  when  I  remember  him,  that  peaceful 
and  luxuriant  palm.  And  I  think  that  to 
have  known  one  good  old  man — one  man 
who,  through  the  chances  and  rubs  of  a  long 
life,  has  carried  his  heart  in  his  hand,  like 
a  palm  branch,  waving  all  discords  into 
peace — helps  our  faith  in  God,  in  ourselves, 
and  in  each  other  more  than  many  ser 
mons.  I  hardly  know  whether  to  be  grate 
ful  to  my  grandfather  for  the  spectacles; 
and  yet  when  I  remember  that  it  is  to  them 
I  owe  the  pleasant  image  of  him  which  I 
cherish,  I  seem  to  myself  sadly  ungrateful. 
147 


"Madam,"  said  Titbottom  to  Prue,  sol 
emnly,  "my  memory  is  a  long  and  gloomy 
gallery,  and  only  remotely,  at  its  farther  end, 
do  I  see  the  glimmer  of  soft  sunshine,  and 
only  there  are  the  pleasant  pictures  hung. 
They  seem  to  me  very  happy  along  whose 
gallery  the  sunlight  streams  to  their  very 
feet,  striking  all  the  pictured  walls  into  un 
fading  splendor." 

Prue  had  laid  her  work  in  her  lap,  and  as 
Titbottom  paused  a  moment,  and  I  turned 
towards  her,  I  found  her  mild  eyes  fastened 
upon  my  face,  and  glistening  with  many 
tears.  I  knew  that  the  tears  meant  that  she 
felt  herself  to  be  one  of  those  who  seemed 
to  Titbottom  very  happy. 

"  Misfortunes  of  many  kinds  came  heavily 
upon  the  family  after  the  head  was  gone. 
The  great  house  was  relinquished.  My 
parents  were  both  dead,  and  my  grandmother 
had  entire  charge  of  me.  But  from  the  mo 
ment  that  I  received  the  gift  of  the  specta 
cles,  I  could  not  resist  their  fascination,  and 
I  withdrew  into  myself,  and  became  a  soli 
tary  boy.  There  were  not  many  companions 
for  me  of  my  own  age,  and  they  gradually- 
left  me,  or,  at  least,  had  not  a  hearty  sym 
pathy  with  me ;  for,  if  they  teased  me,  I 
pulled  out  my  spectacles  and  surveyed  them 
so  seriously  that  they  acquired  a  kind  of 
awe  of  me,  and  evidently  regarded  my  grand- 
148 


father's  gift  as  a  concealed  magical  weapon 
which  might  be  dangerously  drawn  upon 
them  at  any  moment.  Whenever,  in  our 


games,  there  were  quarrels  and  high  words, 
and  I  began  to  feel  about  my  dress  and  to 
wear  a  grave  look,  they  all  took  the  alarm, 
and  shouted,  '  Look  out  for  Titbottom's 
149 


spectacles !'  and  scattered  like  a  flock  of 
scared  sheep. 

"  Nor  could  I  wonder  at  it.  For  at  first,  be 
fore  they  took  the  alarm,  I  saw  strange  sights 
when  I  looked  at  them  through  the  glasses. 

"  If  two  were  quarrelling  about  a  marble 
or  a  ball,  I  had  only  to  go  behind  a  tree 
where  I  was  concealed  and  look  at  them 
leisurely.  Then  the  scene  changed,  and  it 
was  no  longer  a  green  meadow  with  boys 
playing,  but  a  spot  which  I  did  not  recog 
nize,  and  forms  that  made  me  shudder  or 
smile.  It  was  not  a  big  boy  bullying  a  little 
one,  but  a  young  wolf  with  glistening  teeth 
and  a  lamb  cowering  before  him ;  or  it  was 
a  dog,  faithful  and  famishing — or  a  star  go 
ing  slowly  into  eclipse — or  a  rainbow  fading 
— or  a  flower  blooming  —  or  a  sun  rising — 
or  a  waning  moon. 

"  The  revelations  of  the  spectacles  de 
termined  my  feeling  for  the  boys,  and  for 
all  whom  I  saw  through  them.  No  shyness, 
nor  awkwardness,  nor  silence,  could  separate 
me  from  those  who  looked  lovely  as  lilies 
to  my  illuminated  eyes.  But  the  vision 
made  me  afraid.  If  I  felt  myself  warmly 
drawn  to  any  one,  I  struggled  with  the  fierce 
desire  of  seeing  him  through  the  spectacles, 
for  I  feared  to  find  him  something  else  than 
I  fancied.  I  longed  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of 
ignorant  feeling,  to  love  without  knowing ; 


to  float  like  a  leaf  upon  the  eddies  of  life, 
drifted  now  to  a  sunny  point,  now  to  a 
solemn  shade  —  now  over  glittering  ripples, 
now  over  gleaming  calms — and  not  to  de 
termined  ports,  a  trim  vessel  with  an  inex 
orable  rudder. 

"  But  sometimes,  mastered  after  long 
struggles,  as  if  the  unavoidable  condition 
of  owning  the  spectacles  were  using  them,  I 
seized  them  and  sauntered  into  the  little 
town.  Putting  them  to  my  eyes,  I  peered 
into  the  houses  and  at  the  people  who  passed 
me.  Here  sat  a  family  at  breakfast,  and  I 
stood  at  the  window  looking  in.  O  motley 
meal !  fantastic  vision  !  The  good  mother 
saw  her  lord  sitting  opposite,  a  grave,  re 
spectable  being,  eating  muffins.  But  I  saw 
only  a  bank-bill,  more  or  less  crumpled  and 
tattered,  marked  with  a  larger  or  lesser 
figure.  If  a  sharp  wind  blew  suddenly,  I 
saw  it  tremble  and  nutter ;  it  was  thin,  flat, 
impalpable.  I  removed  my  glasses,  and 
looked  with  my  eyes  at  the  wife.  I  could 
have  smiled  to  see  the  humid  tenderness 
with  which  she  regarded  her  strange  vis-a- 
vis.  Is  life  only  a  game  of  blind-man's-buff  ? 
of  droll  cross-purposes  ? 

"  Or  I  put  them  on  again,  and  then  looked 
at  the  wives.  How  many  stout  trees  I  saw 
—  how  many  tender  flowers  —  how  many 
placid  pools ;  yes,  and  how  many  little 


streams  winding  out  of  sight,  shrinking  be 
fore  the  large,  hard,  round  eyes  opposite, 
and  slipping  off  into  solitude  and  shade, 
with  a  low,  inner  song  for  their  own  solace. 

"  In  many  houses  I  thought  to  see  angels, 
nymphs,  or,  at  least,  women,  and  could  only 
find  broomsticks,  mops,  or  kettles,  hurrying 
about,  rattling  and  tinkling,  in  a  state  of 
shrill  activity.  I  made  calls  upon  elegant 
ladies,  and  after  I  had  enjoyed  the  gloss  of 
silk,  and  the  delicacy  of  lace,  and  the  glitter 
of  jewels,  I  slipped  on  my  spectacles  and 
saw  a  peacock's  feather,  flounced  and  furbe- 
lowed  and  fluttering  ;  or  an  iron  rod,  thin, 
sharp,  and  hard ;  nor  could  I  possibly  mis 
take  the  movement  of  the  drapery  for  any 
flexibility  of  the  thing  draped. 

"  Or,  mysteriously  chilled,  I  saw  a  statue 
of  perfect  form,  or  flowing  movement,  it 
might  be  alabaster,  or  bronze,  or  marble — 
but  sadly  often  it  was  ice ;  and  I  knew  that 
after  it  had  shone  a  little,  and  frozen  a  few 
eyes  with  its  despairing  perfection,  it  could 
not  be  put  away  in  the  niches  of  palaces  for 
ornament  and  proud  family  tradition,  like 
the  alabaster,  or  bronze,  or  marble  statues, 
but  would  melt,  and  shrink,  and  fall  coldly 
away  in  colorless  and  useless  water — be  ab 
sorbed  in  the  earth  and  utterly  forgotten. 

"  But  the  true  sadness  was  rather  in  see 
ing  those  who,  not  having  the  spectacles, 
152 


thought  that  the  iron  rod  was  flexible,  and 
the  ice  statue  warm.  I  saw  many  a  gallant 
heart,  which  seemed  to  me  brave  and  loyal 
as  the  crusaders,  pursuing,  through  days 
and  nights,  and  a  long  life  of  devotion,  the 
hope  of  lighting  at  least  a  smile  in  the  cold 
eyes,  if  not  a  fire  in  the  icy  heart.  I  watched 
the  earnest,  enthusiastic  sacrifice.  I  saw 
the  pure  resolve,  the  generous  faith,  the  fine 
scorn  of  doubt,  the  impatience  of  suspicion. 
I  watched  the  grace,  the  ardor,  the  glory  of 
devotion.  Through  those  strange  spectacles 
how  often  I  saw  the  noblest  heart  renounc 
ing  all  other  hope,  all  other  ambition,  all 
other  life,  than  the  possible  love  of  some 
one  of  those  statues  ! 

"  Ah  me,  it  was  terrible !  but  they  had 
not  the  love  to  give.  The  face  was  so  pol 
ished  and  smooth,  because  there  was  no 
sorrow  in  the  heart — and  drearily,  often,  no 
heart  to  be  touched.  I  could  not  wonder 
that  the  devoted  heart  was  broken,  for  it 
had  clashed  itself  against  a  stone.  I  wept, 
until  my  spectacles  were  dimmed,  for  those 
hopeless  lovers ;  but  there  was  a  pang  be 
yond  tears  for  those  icy  statues. 

"  Still  a  boy,  I  was  thus  too  much  a  man 
in  knowledge  —  I  did  not  comprehend  the 
sights  I  was  compelled  to  see.  I  used  to 
tear  my  glasses  away  from  my  eyes,  and, 
frightened  at  myself,  run  to  escape  my  own 
155 


consciousness.  Reaching  the  small  house 
where  we  then  lived,  I  plunged  into  my 
^  grandmother's  room,  and,  throwing  myself 
upon  the  floor,  buried  my  face  in  her  lap ; 
and  sobbed  myself  to  sleep  with  premature 
grief. 

"  But  when  I  awakened,  and  felt  her  cool 
hand  upon  my  hot  forehead,  and  heard  the 
low,  sweet  song,  or  the  gentle  story,  or  the 
tenderly  told  parable  from  the  Bible,  with 
which  she  tried  to  soothe  me,  I  could  not 
resist  the  mystic  fascination  that  lured  me, 
as  I  lay  in  her  lap,  to  steal  a  glance  at  her 
through  the  spectacles. 

"  Pictures  of  the  Madonna  have  not  her 
rare  and  pensive  beauty.  Upon  the  tran 
quil  little  islands  her  life  had  been  event 
less,  and  all  the  fine  possibilities  of  her 
nature  were  like  flowers  that  never  bloomed. 
Placid  were  all  her  years ;  yet  I  have  read 
of  no  heroine,  of  no  woman  great  in  sudden 
exigencies,  that  it  did  not  seem  to  me  she 
might  have  been.  The  wife  and  widow  of  a 
man  who  loved  his  home  better  than  the 
homes  of  others,  I  have  yet  heard  of  no 
queen,  no  belle,  no  imperial  beauty  whom 
in  grace  and  brilliancy  and  persuasive  cour 
tesy  she  might  not  have  surpassed. 

"  Madam,"  said  Titbottom  to  my  wife, 
whose  heart  hung  upon  his  story ;  "  your  hus 
band's  young  friend,  Aurelia,  wears  some- 
156 


times  a  camellia  in  her  hair,  and  no  diamond 
in  the  ball-room  seems  so  costly  as  that 
perfect  flower,  which  women  envy,  and  for 
whose  least  and  withered  petal  men  sigh ; 
vet,  in  the  tropical  solitudes  of  Brazil,  how 
many  a  camellia  bud  drops  from  the  bush 
that  no  eye  has  ever  seen,  which,  had  it 
flowered  and  been  noticed,  would  have 
gilded  all  hearts  with  its  memory. 

"  When  I  stole  these  furtive  glances  at 
my  grandmother,  half  fearing  that  they  were 
wrong,  I  saw  only  a  calm  lake,  whose  shores 
were  low,  and  over  which  the  sun  hung  un 
broken,  so  that  the  least  star  was  clearly  re 
flected.  It  had  an  atmosphere  of  solemn 
twilight  tranquillity,  and  so  completely  did 
its  unruffled  surface  blend  with  the  cloud 
less,  star-studded  sky  that,  when  I  looked 
through  my  spectacles  at  my  grandmother, 
the  vision  seemed  to  me  all  heaven  and 
stars. 

"  Yet,  as  I  gazed  and  gazed,  I  felt 
what  stately  cities  might  well  have 
been  built  upon   those   shores,  and 
have  flashed  prosperity  over  the  calm, 
like  coruscations  of  pearls.    I  dreamed 
of  gorgeous    fleets,  silken- sailed,  and 
blown  by  perfumed  winds,  drifting  over       »; 
those   depthless  waters  and  through 
those  spacious  skies.    I  gazed  upon  the 
twilight,  the  inscrutable  silence,  like  a 
157 


God-fearing  discoverer  upon  a  new  and 
vast  sea  bursting  upon  him  through  forest 
glooms,  in  the  fervor  of  whose  impassioned 
gaze  a  millennial  and  poetic  world  arises,  and 
man  need  no  longer  die  to  be  happy. 

"  My  companions  naturally  deserted  me, 
for  I  had  grown  wearily  grave  and  abstract 
ed  ;  and,  unable  to  resist  the  allurements 
of  my  spectacles,  I  was  constantly  lost  in 
the  world,  of  which  those  companions  were 
part,  yet  of  which  they  knew  nothing. 

"  I  grew  cold  and  hard,  almost  morose ; 
people  seemed  to  me  so  blind  and  unreason 
able.  They  did  the  wrong  thing.  They 
called  green,  yellow ;  and  black,  white. 
Young  men  said  of  a  girl,  '  What  a  lovely, 
simple  creature  !'  I  looked,  and  there  was 
only  a  glistening  wisp  of  straw,  dry  and  hol 
low.  Or  they  said,  '  What  a  cold,  proud 
beauty  !'  I  looked,  and  lo !  a  Madonna, 
whose  heart  held  the  world.  Or  they  said, 
'  What  a  wild,  giddy  girl  !'  and  I  saw  a 
glancing,  dancing  mountain  stream,  pure  as 
the  virgin  snows  whence  it  flowed,  singing 
through  sun  and  shade,  over  pearls  and  gold- 
dust,  slipping  along  unstained  by  weed  or 
rain,  or  heavy  foot  of  cattle,  touching  the 
flowers  with  a  dewy  kiss — a  beam  of  grace, 
a  happy  song,  a  line  of  light  in  the  dim  and 
troubled  landscape. 

"  My  grandmother  sent  me  to  school,  but 
158 


I  looked  at  the  master,  and  saw  that  he  was 
a  smooth  round  ferule,  or  an  improper  noun, 
or  a  vulgar  fraction,  and  refused  to  obey 
him.  Or  he  was  a  piece  of  string,  a  rag,  a 
willow-wand,  and  I  had  a  contemptuous  pity. 
But  one  was  a  well  of  cool,  deep  water,  and 
looking  suddenly  in,  one  day,  I  saw  the 
stars. 

"  That  one  gave  me  all  my  schooling. 
With  him  I  used  to  walk  by  the  sea,  and,  as 
we  strolled  and  the  waves  plunged  in  long 
legions  before  us,  I  looked  at  him  through 
the  spectacles,  and  as  his  eyes  dilated  with 
the  boundless  view,  and  his  chest  heaved 
with  an  impossible  desire,  I  saw  Xerxes  and 
his  army,  tossed  and  glittering,  rank  upon 
rank,  multitude  upon  multitude,  out  of  sight, 
but  ever  regularly  advancing,  and  with  con 
fused  roar  of  ceaseless  music,  prostrating 
themselves  in  abject  homage.  Or,  as  with 
arms  out- stretched  and  hair  streaming  on 
the  wind,  he  chanted  full  lines  of  the  re 
sounding  Iliad,  I  saw  Homer  pacing  the 
yEgean  sands  in  the  Greek  sunsets  of  for 
gotten  times. 

"  My  grandmother  died,  and  I  was  thrown 
into  the  world  without  resources,  and  with 
no  capital  but  my  spectacles.  I  tried  to 
find  employment,  but  everybody  was  shy  of 
me.  There  was  a  vague  suspicion  that  I 
was  either  a  little  crazed,  or  a  good  deal  in 
159 


league  with  the  prince  of  darkness.  My 
companions,  who  would  persist  in  calling  a 
piece  of  painted  muslin  a  fair  and  fragrant 
flower,  had  no  difficulty ;  success  waited  for 
them  around  every  corner  and  arrived  in 
every  ship. 

"  I  tried  to  teach,  for  I  loved  children. 
But  if  anything  excited  a  suspicion  of  my 
pupils,  and  putting  on  my  spectacles  I  saw 
that  I  was  fondling  a  snake  or  smelling  at 
a  bud  with  a  worm  in  it,  I  sprang  up  in  hor 
ror  and  ran  away ;  or  if  it  seemed  to  me 
through  the  glasses  that  a  cherub  smiled 
upon  me,  or  a  rose  was  blooming  in  my 
button-hole,  then  I  felt  myself  imperfect  and 
impure,  not  fit  to  be  leading  and  training 
what  was  so  essentially  superior  to  myself, 
and  I  kissed  the  children  and  left  them 
weeping  and  wondering. 

"  In  despair  I  went  to  a  great  merchant 
on  the  island  and  asked  him  to  employ  me. 

"  '  My  dear  young  friend,'  said  he,  '  I  un 
derstand  that  you  have  some  singular  secret, 
some  charm,  or  spell,  or  amulet,  or  some 
thing,  I  don't  know  what,  of  which  people 
are  afraid.  Now  you  know,  my  dear,'  said 
the  merchant,  swelling  up,  and  apparently 
prouder  of  his  great  stomach  than  of  his 
large  fortune, '  I  am  not  of  that  kind.  I  am 
not  easily  frightened.  You  may  spare  your 
self  the  pain  of  trying  to  impose  upon  me. 
1 60 


People  who  propose  to  come  to  time  before 
I  arrive  are  accustomed  to  arise  very  early 
in  the  morning,'  said  he,  thrusting  his 
thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat, 
and  spreading  the  ringers  like  two  fans 
upon  his  bosom.  '  I  think  I  have  heard 
something  of  your  secret.  You  have  a  pair 
of  spectacles,  I  believe,  that  you  value  very 
much,  because  your  grandmother  brought 
them  as  a  marriage-portion  to  your  grand 


father.  Now,  if  you  think  fit  to  sell  me 
those  spectacles,  I  will  pay  you  the  largest 
market  price  for  them.  What  do  you  say  ?' 

"  I  told  him  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
of  selling  my  spectacles. 

"  '  My  young  friend  means  to  eat  them,  I 
suppose,'  said  he,  with  a  contemptuous  smile. 

"  I  made  no  reply,  but  was  turning  to  leave 
the  office,  when  the  merchant  called  after  me : 

"  '  My  young  friend,  poor  people  should 

161 


never  suffer  themselves  to  get  into  pets. 
Anger  is  an  expensive  luxury,  in  which  only 
men  of  a  certain  income  can  indulge.  A 
pair  of  spectacles  and  a  hot  temper  are  not 
the  most  promising  capital  for  success  in 
life,  Master  Titbottom.' 

"  I  said  nothing,  but  put  my  hand  upon 
the  door  to  go  out,  when  the  merchant  said, 
more  respectfully : 

"  '  Well,  you  foolish  boy,  if  you  will  not 
sell  your  spectacles,  perhaps  you  will  agree 
to  sell  the  use  of  them  to  me.  That  is,  you 
shall  only  put  them  on  when  I  direct  you, 
and  for  my  purposes.  Hallo !  you  little 
fool  !'  cried  he,  impatiently,  as  he  saw  that 
I  intended  to  make  no  reply. 

"  But  I  had  pulled  out  my  spectacles  and 
put  them  on  for  my  owrn  purposes,  and 
against  his  wish  and  desire.  I  looked  at 
him,  and  saw  a  huge,  bald-headed  \vild  boar, 
with  gross  chaps  and  a  leering  eye — only 
the  more  ridiculous  for  the  high -arched, 
gold  -  bowed  spectacles  that  straddled  his 
nose.  One  of  his  fore-hoofs  was  thrust  into 
the  safe,  where  his  bills  receivable  were 
hived,  and  the  other  into  his  pocket,  among 
the  loose  change  and  bills  there.  His  ears 
were  pricked  forward  with  a  brisk,  sensitive 
smartness.  In  a  world  where  prize  pork 
was  the  best  excellence,  he  would  have  car 
ried  off  all  the  premiums. 
162 


"  I  stepped  into  the  next  office  in  the 
street,  and  a  mild-faced,  genial  man,  also  a 
large  and  opulent  merchant,  asked  me  my 
business  in  such  a  tone  that  I  instantly 
looked  through  my  spectacles  and  saw  a 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  There  I 
pitched  my  tent,  and  stayed  till  the  good 
man  died  and  his  business  was  discontinued. 

"  But  while  there,"  said  Titbottom,  and 
his  voice  trembled  away  into  a  sigh,  "  I  first 
saw  Preciosa.  Despite  the  spectacles,  I  saw 
Preciosa.  For  days,  for  weeks,  for  months, 
I  did  not  take  my  spectacles  with  me.  I  ran 
away  from  them,  I  threw  them  up  on  high 
shelves,  I  tried  to  make  up  my  mind  to 
throw  them  into  the  sea  or  down  the  well. 
I  could  not,  I  would  not,  I  dared  not,  look 
at  Preciosa  through  the  spectacles.  It  was 
not  possible  for  me  deliberately  to  destroy 
them  ;  but  I  awoke  in  the  night,  and  could 
almost  have  cursed  my  dear  old  grandfather 
for  his  gift. 

"  I  sometimes  escaped  from  the  office  arid 
sat  for  whole  days  with  Preciosa.  I  told 
her  the  strange  things  I  had  seen  with  my 
mystic  glasses.  The  hours  were  not  enough 
for  the  wild  romances  which  I  raved  in  her 
ear.  She  listened,  astonished  and  appalled. 
Her  blue  eyes  turned  upon  me  with  sweet 
deprecation.  She  clung  to  me,  and  then 
withdrew  and  fled  fearfully  from  the  room. 
163 


But  she  could  not  stay  away.  She  could 
not  resist  my  voice,  in  whose  tones  burned  all 
the  love  that  filled  my  heart  and  brain.  The 
very  effort  to  resist  the  desire  of  seeing  her 
as  I  saw  everybody  else  gave  a  frenzy  and 
an  unnatural  tension  to  my  feeling  and  my 
manner.  I  sat  by  her  side,  looking  into  her 
eyes,  smoothing  her  hair,  folding  her  to  my 
heart,  which  was  sunken  deep  and  deep— 
why  not  forever  ? — in  that  dream  of  peace. 
I  ran  from  her  presence  and  shouted  and 
leaped  with  joy,  and  sat  the  whole  night 
through,  thrilled  into  happiness  by  the 
thought  of  her  love  and  loveliness,  like  a 
wind-harp  tightly  strung,  and  answering  the 
airiest  sigh  of  the  breeze  with  music. 

"  Then  came  calmer  days  —  the  convic 
tion  of  deep  love  settled  upon  our  lives — as 
after  the  hurrying,  heaving  days  of  spring 
comes  the  bland  and  benignant  summer. 

"  '  It  is  no  dream,  then,  after  all,  and  we 
are  happy,'  I  said  to  her  one  day;  and  there 
came  no  answer,  for  happiness  is  speech 
less. 

"  '  We  are  happy,  then,'  I  said  to  myself; 
'there  is  no  excitement  now.  How  glad  I 
am  that  I  can  now  look  at  her  through  my 
spectacles.' 

"I  feared  lest  some  instinct  should  warn 
me  to  beware.  I  escaped  from  her  arms, 
and  ran  home  and  seized  the  glasses,  and 
164 


bounded  back  again  to  Preciosa.  As  I  en 
tered  the  room  I  was  heated,  my  head  was 
swimming  with  confused  apprehensions,  my 
eyes  must  have  glared.  Preciosa  was  fright 
ened,  and,  rising  from  her  seat,  stood  with 
an  inquiring  glance  of  surprise  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  I  was  bent  with  frenzy  upon  my 
purpose.  I  was  merely  aware  that  she  was 
in  the  room.  I  saw  nothing  else.  I  heard 
nothing.  I  cared  for  nothing  but  to  see 
her  through  that  magic  glass,  and  feel  at 
once  all  the  fulness  of  blissful  perfection 
which  that  would  reveal.  Preciosa  stood 
before  the  mirror,  but  alarmed  at  my  wild 
and  eager  movements,  unable  to  distinguish 
what  I  had  in  my  hands,  and  seeing  me 
raise  them  suddenly  to  my  face,  she  shrieked 
with  terror  and  fell  fainting  upon  the  floor 
at  the  very  moment  that  I  placed  the  glasses 
before  my  eyes,  and  beheld — myself  reflect 
ed  in  the  mirror  before  which  she  had  been 
standing. 

"  Dear  madam,"  cried  Titbottom  to  my 
wife,  springing  up  and  falling  back  again  in 
his  chair,  pale  and  trembling,  while  Prue 
ran  to  him  and  took  his  hand,  and  I  poured 
out  a  glass  of  water — "  I  saw  myself!" 

There    was    silence    for   many   minutes. 

Prue  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  the  head 

of  our  guest,  whose  eyes  were  closed,  and 

who  breathed  softly  like  an  infant  in  sleep- 

167 


ing.  Perhaps  in  all  the  long  years  of  an 
guish  since  that  hour,  no  tender  hand  had 
touched  his  brow  nor  wiped  away  the  damps 
of  a  bitter  sorrow.  Perhaps  the  tender,  ma 
ternal  ringers  of  my  wife  soothed  his  weary 
head  with  the  conviction  that  he  felt  the 
hand  of  his  mother  playing  with  the  long 
hair  of  her  boy  in  the  soft  West  India  morn 
ing.  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  natural  relief 
of  expressing  a  pent-up  sorrow. 

When  he  spoke  again  it  was  with  the  old 
subdued  tone,  and  the  air  of  quaint  solem 
nity. 

"  These  things  were  matters  of  long,  long 
ago,  and  I  came  to  this  country  soon  after. 
I  brought  with  me  premature  age,  a  past  of 
melancholy  memories,  and  the  magic  spec 
tacles.  I  had  become  their  slave.  I  had 
nothing  more  to  fear.  Having  seen  myself, 
I  was  compelled  to  see  others,  properly  to 
understand  my  relations  to  them.  The  lights 
that  cheer  the  future  of  other  men  had  gone 
out  for  me  ;  my  eyes  were  those  of  an  exile 
turned  backward  upon  the  receding  shore, 
and  not  forward  with  hope  upon  the  ocean. 
"  I  mingled  with  men,  but  with  little  pleas 
ure.  There  are  but  many  varieties  of  a  few 
types.  I  did  not  find  those  I  came  to  clear 
er-sighted  than  those  I  had  left  behind.  I 
heard  men  called  shrewd  and  wise,  and  re 
port  said  they  were  highly  intelligent  and 

168 


successful.  My  finest  sense  detected  no 
aroma  of  purity  and  principle ;  but  I  saw 
only  a  fungus  that  had  fattened  and  spread 
in  a  night.  They  went  to  the  theatres  to  see 
actors  upon  the  stage.  I  went  to  see  actors 
in  the  boxes,  so  consummately  cunning  that 
others  did  not  know  they  were  acting,  and 
they  did  not  suspect  it  themselves. 

"  Perhaps  you  wonder  it  did  not  make  me 
misanthropical.  My  dear  friends,  do  not 
forget  that  I  had  seen  myself.  That  made 
me  compassionate,  not  cynical. 

"  Of  course  I  could  not  value  highly  the 
ordinary  standards  of  success  and  excel 
lence.  When  I  went  to  church  and  saw  a 
thin,  blue,  artificial  flower,  or  a  great  sleepy 
cushion  expounding  the  beauty  of  holiness 
to  pews  full  of  eagles,  half-eagles,  and  three 
pences,  however  adroitly  concealed  they 
might  be  in  broadcloth  and  boots;  or  saw 
an  onion  in  an  Easter  bonnet  weeping  over 
the  sins  of  Magdalen,  I  did 
not  feel  as  they  felt  who  saw 
in  all  this  not  only  pro 
priety  but  piety. 

"Or  when    at    public 
meetings  an  eel  stood 
upon  end,  and  wriggled 
and  squirmed  lithely 
in  every  direction,  and 
declared  that,  for  his 
169 


part,  he  went  in  for  rainbows  and  hot  water 
— how  could  I  help  seeing  that  he  was  still 
black  and  loved  a  slimy  pool  ? 

"  I  could  not  grow  misanthropical  when 
I  saw  in  the  eyes  of  so  many  who  were 
called  old  the  gushing  fountains  of  eternal 
youth,  and  the  light  of  an  immortal  dawn ; 
or,  when  I  saw  those  who  were  esteemed 
unsuccessful  and  aimless  ruling  a  fair  realm 
of  peace  and  plenty,  either  in  their  own 
hearts  or  in  another's  heart — a  realm  and 
princely  possession  for  which  they  had  well 
renounced  a  hopeless  search  and  a  belated 
triumph. 

"  I  knew  one  man  who  had  been  for  years 
a  by-word  for  having  sought  the  philoso 
pher's  stone.  But  I  looked  at  him  through 
the  spectacles  and  saw  a  satisfaction  in  con 
centrated  energies,  and  a  tenacity  arising 
from  devotion  to  a  noble  dream,  which  were 
not  apparent  in  the  youths  who  pitied  him 
in  the  aimless  effeminacy  of  clubs,  nor  in 
the  clever  gentlemen  who  cracked  their  thin 
jokes  upon  him  over  a  gossiping  dinner. 

"  And  there  was  your  neighbor  over  the 
way,  who  passes  for  a  woman  who  has  failed 
in  her  career,  because  she  is  an  old  maid. 
People  wag  solemn  heads  of  pity,  and  say 
that  she  made  so  great  a  mistake  in  not 
marrying  the  brilliant  and  famous  man  who 
was  for  long  years  her  suitor.  It  is  clear 
170 


that  no  orange  flower  will  ever  bloom  for 
her.  The  young  people  make  their  tender 
romances  about  her  as  they  watch  her,  and 
think  of  her  solitary  hours  of  bitter  regret 
and  wasting  longing,  never  to  be  satisfied. 

"When  I  first  came  to  town  I  shared  this 
sympathy,  and  pleased  my  imagination  with 
fancying  her  hard  struggle  with  the  convic 
tion  that  she  had  lost  all  that  made  life 
beautiful.  I  supposed  that  if  I  had  looked 
at  her  through  my  spectacles,  I  should  see 
that  it  was  only  her  radiant  temper  which 
so  illuminated  her  dress  that  we  did  not  see 
it  to  be  heavy  sables. 

"  But  when,  one  day,  I  did  raise  my  glass 
es  and  glanced  at  her,  I  did  not  see  the  old 
maid  whom  we  all  pitied  for  a  secret  sorrow, 
but  a  woman  whose  nature  was  a  tropic  in 
which  the  sun  shone  and  birds  sang  and 
flowers  bloomed  forever.  There  were  no  re 
grets,  no  doubts  and  half  wishes,  but  a  calm 
sweetness,  a  transparent  peace.  I  saw  her 
blush  when  that  old  lover  passed  by,  or 
paused  to  speak  to  her,  but  it  was  only 
the  sign  of  delicate  feminine  consciousness. 
She  knew  his  love,  and  honored  it,  although 
she  could  not  understand  it  nor  return  it. 
I  looked  closely  at  her,  and  I  saw  that  al 
though  all  the  world  had  exclaimed  at  her 
indifference  to  such  homage,  and  had  de 
clared  it  was  astonishing  she  should  lose 


so  fine  a  match,  she  would  only  say,  simply 
and  quietly: 

"  '  If  Shakespeare  loved  me  and  I  did  not 
love  him,  how  could  I  marry  him  ?' 

"  Could  I  be  misanthropical  when  I  saw 
fidelity  and  dignity  and  simplicity? 

"You  may  believe  that  I  was  especially 
curious  to  look  at  that  old  lover  of  hers 
through  my  glasses.  He  was  no  longer 
young,  you  know,  when  I  came,  and  his 
fame  and  fortune  were  secure.  Certainly 
I  have  heard  of  few  men  more  beloved,  and 
of  none  more  worthy  to  be  loved.  He  had 
the  easy  manner  of  a  man  of  the  world,  the 
sensitive  grace  of  a  poet,  and  the  charita 
ble  judgment  of  a  wide  traveller.  He  was 
accounted  the  most  successful  and  most  un 
spoiled  of  men.  Handsome,  brilliant,  wise, 
tender,  graceful,  accomplished,  rich,  and  fa 
mous,  I  looked  at  him  without  the  specta 
cles  in  surprise  and  admiration,  and  won 
dered  how  your  neighbor  over  the  way  had 
been  so  entirely  untouched  by  his  homage. 
I  watched  their  intercourse  in  society.  I 
saw  her  gay  smile,  her  cordial  greeting ;  I 
marked  his  frank  address,  his  lofty  cour 
tesy.  Their  manner  told  no  tales.  The 
eager  world  was  balked,  and  I  pulled  out 
my  spectacles. 

"  I  have  seen  her  already,  and  now  I  saw 
him.  He  lived  only  in  memory,  and  his 
172 


memory  was  a  spacious  and  stately  palace. 
But  he  did  not  oftenest  frequent  the  ban- 
queting-hall,  where  were  endless  hospitality 
and  feasting — nor  did  he  loiter  much  in 
the  reception  rooms,  where  a  throng  of  new 
visitors  was  incessantly  swarming — nor  did 
he  feed  his  vanity  by  haunting  the  apart 
ment  in  which  were  stored  the  trophies  of 
his  varied  triumphs  —  nor  dream  much  in 
the  great  gallery  hung  with  pictures  of  his 
travels. 

"  From  all  these  lofty  halls  of  memory  he 
constantly  escaped  to  a  remote  and  solitary 
chamber,  into  which  no  one  had  ever  pen 
etrated.  But  my  fatal  eyes,  behind  the 
glasses,  followed  and  entered  with  him,  and 
saw  that  the  chamber  was  a  chapel.  It  was 
dim  and  silent,  and  sweet  with  perpetual 
incense  that  burned  upon  an  altar  before  a 
picture  forever  veiled.  There,  whenever  I 
chanced  to  look,  I  saw  him  kneel  and  pray ; 
and  there,  by  day  and  by  night,  a  funeral 
hymn  was  chanted. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  will  be  surprised 
that  I  have  been  content  to  remain  a  deputy 
book-keeper.  My  spectacles  regulated  my 
ambition,  and  I  early  learned  that  there 
were  better  gods  than  Plutus.  The  glasses 
have  lost  much  of  their  fascination  now,  and 
I  do  not  often  use  them.  But  sometimes 
the  desire  is  irresistible.  Whenever  I  am 
175 


greatly  interested  I  am  compelled  to  take 
them  out  and  see  what  it  is  that  I  admire. 

"And  yet — and  yet,"  said  Titbottom, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I  thank 
my  grandfather." 

Prue  had  long  since  laid  away  her  work, 
and  had  heard  every  word  of  the  story.  I 
saw  that  the  dear  woman  had  yet  one 
question  to  ask,  and  had  been  earnestly 
hoping  to  hear  something  that  would  spare 
her  the  necessity  of  asking.  But  Titbottom 
had  resumed  his  usual  tone  after  the  mo 
mentary  excitement,  and  made  no  further 
allusion  to  himself.  We  all  sat  silently ; 
Titbottom's  eyes  fastened  musingly  upon 
the  carpet,  Prue  looking  wistfully  at  him, 
and  I  regarding  both. 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  our  guest  arose 
to  go.  He  shook  hands  quietly,  made  his 
grave  Spanish  bow  to  Prue,  and,  taking  his 
hat,  went  towards  the  front  door.  Prue 
and  I  accompanied  him.  I  saw  in  her  eyes 
that  she  would  ask  her  question  ;  and  as 
Titbottom  opened  the  door  I  heard  the  low 
words  : 

"And  Preciosa?" 

Titbottom  paused.  He  had  just  opened 
the  door,  and  the  moonlight  streamed  over 
him  as  he  stood  turning  back  to  us. 

"  I  have  seen  her  but  once  since  ;  it  was 
in  church,  and  she  was  kneeling  with  her 
176 


eyes  closed,  so  that  she  did  not  see  me. 
But  I  rubbed  the  glasses  well  and  looked  at 
her  and  saw  a  white  lily,  whose  stem  was 
broken,  but  which  was  fresh  and  luminous 
and  fragrant  still." 

"  That  was  a  miracle,"  interrupted  Prue. 

"  Madam,  it  was  a  miracle,"  replied  Tit- 
bottom  ;  "  and  for  that  one  sight  I  am  de 
voutly  grateful  for  my  grandfather's  gift.  I 
saw  that  although  a  flower  may  have  lost  its 
hold  upon  earthly  moisture  it  may  still  bloom 
as  sweetly,  fed  by  the  dews  of  heaven." 

The  door  closed,  and  he  was  gone.  But 
as  Prue  put  her  arm  in  mine,  and  we  went 
up-stairs  together,  she  whispered  in  my  ear: 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  don't  wear 
spectacles." 


A  CRUISE    IN  THE   FLYING   DUTCHMAN 


When  I  sailed:  when  I  sailed" 

—Ballad  of  William  Kidd. 


WITH  the  opening  of  spring  my  heart 
opens.  My  fancy  expands  with  the  flowers, 
and,  as  I  walk  down-town  in  the  May  morn 
ing  towards  the  dingy  counting-room  and 
the  old  routine,  you  would  hardly  believe 
that  I  would  not  change  my  feelings  for 
those  of  the  French  Barber- Poet  Jasmin, 
who  goes  merrily  singing  to  his  shaving  and 
hair-cutting. 

The  first  warm  day  puts  the  whole  winter 
to  flight.  It  stands  in  front  of  the  summer 
like  a  young  warrior  before  his  host,  and, 
single-handed,  defies  and  destroys  its  re 
morseless  enemy. 

I  throw  up  the  chamber  window  to  breathe 
the  earliest  breath  of  summer. 

"  The  brave  young  David  has  hit  old  Go- 


181 


liath  square  in  the  forehead  this  morning," 
I  say  to  Prue,  as  I  lean  out  and  bathe  in  the 
soft  sunshine. 

My  wife  is  tying  on  her  cap  at  the  glass, 
and,  not  quite  disentangled  from  her  dreams, 
thinks  I  am  speaking  of  a  street  brawl,  and 
replies  that  I  had  better  take  care  of  my 
own  head. 

"  Since  you  have  charge  of  my  heart,  I 
suppose,"  I  answer  gayly,  turning  round  to 
make  her  one  of  Titbottom's  bows. 

"  But  seriously,  Prue,  how  is  it  about  my 
summer  wardrobe  ?" 

Prue  smiles,  and  tells  me  we  shall  have 
two  months  of  winter  yet,  and  I  had  better 
stop  and  order  some  more  coal  as  I  go  down 
town. 

"  Winter — coal !" 

Then  I  step  back,  and,  taking  her  by  the 
arm,  lead  her  to  the  window.  I  throw  it 
open  even  wider  than  before.  The  sunlight 
streams  on  the  great  church-towers  opposite, 
and  the  trees  in  the  neighboring  square 
glisten  and  wave  their  boughs  gently,  as  if 
they  would  burst  into  leaf  before  dinner. 
Cages  are  hung  at  the  open  chamber  win 
dows  in  the  street,  and  the  birds,  touched 
into  song  by  the  sun,  make  Memnon  true. 
Prue's  purple  and  white  hyacinths  are  in 
full  blossom,  and  perfume  the  warm  air,  so 
that  the  canaries  and  mocking-birds  are  no 
182 


longer  aliens  in  the  city  streets,  but  are  once 
more  swinging  in  their  spicy  native  groves. 

A  soft  wind  blows  upon  us  as  we  stand 
listening  and  looking.  Cuba  and  the  tropics 
are  in  the  air.  The  drowsy  tune  of  a  hand- 
organ  rises  from  the  square,  and  Italy  comes 
singing  in  upon  the  sound.  My  triumphant 
eyes  meet  Prue's.  They  are  full  of  sweet 
ness  and  spring. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  summer  ward 
robe  now  ?"  I  ask,  and  we  go  down  to  break 
fast. 

But  the  air  has  magic  in  it,  and  I  do  not 
cease  to  dream.  If  I  meet  Charles,  who  is 
bound  for  Alabama,  or  John,  who  sails  for 
Savannah  with  a  trunk  full  of  white  jackets, 
I  do  not  say  to  them,  as  their  other  friends 
say, 

"  Happy  travellers,  who  cut  March  and 
April  out  of  the  dismal  year  !" 

I  do  not  envy  them.  They  will  be  sea 
sick  on  the  way.  The  southern  winds  will 
blow  all  the  water  out  of  the  rivers,  and,  deso 
lately  stranded  upon  mud,  they  will  relieve 
the  tedium  of  the  interval  by  tying  with  large 
ropes  a  younggentleman  raving  with  delirium 
tremens.  They  will  hurry  along,  appalled 
by  forests  blazing  in  the  windy  night ;  and, 
housed  in  a  bad  inn,  they  will  find  themselves 
anxiously  asking,  "  Are  the  cars  punctual 
in  leaving  ?"  —  grimly  sure  that  impatient 
183 


travellers  find  all  conveyances  too  slow.  The 
travellers  are  very  warm,  indeed,  even  in 
March  and  April — but  Prue  doubts  if  it  is 
altogether  the  effect  of  the  southern  climate. 

Why  should  they  go  to  the  South  ?  If 
they  only  wait  a  little,  the  South  will  come 
to  them.  Savannah  arrives  in  April ;  Florida 
in  May;  Cuba  and  the  Gulf  come  in  with 
June,  and  the  full  splendor  of  the  tropics 
burns  through  July  and  August.  Sitting 
upon  the  earth,  do  we  not  glide  by  all  the 
constellations,  all  the  awful  stars  ?  Does 
not  the  flash  of  Orion's  cimeter  dazzle  as 
we  pass  ?  Do  we  not  hear,  as  we  gaze  in 
hushed  midnights,  the  music  of  the  Lyre ; 
are  we  not  throned  with  Cassiopeia ;  do  we 
not  play  with  the  tangles  of  Berenice's  hair, 
as  we  sail,  as  we  sail  ? 

When  Christopher  told  me  that  he  was  go 
ing  to  Italy,  I  went  into  Bourne's  conserva 
tory,  saw  a  magnolia,  and  so  reached  Italy 
before  him.  Can  Christopher  bring  Italy 
home  ?  But  I  brought  to  Prue  a  branch  of 
magnolia  blossoms,  with  Mr.  Bourne's  kind 
est  regards,  and  she  put  them  upon  her 
table,  and  our  little  house  smelled  of  Italy 
for  a  week  afterwards.  The  incident  de 
veloped  Prue's  Italian  tastes,  which  I  had 
not  suspected  to  be  so  strong.  I  found  her 
looking  very  often  at  the  magnolias ;  even 
holding  them  in  her  hand,  and  standing 


before  the  table  with 
a  pensive  air.     I  sup 
pose   she  was    thinking 
of  Beatrice  Cenci,  or  of 
Tasso  and  Leonora,  or  of  the 
wife   of   Marino    Faliero,  or  of 
some  other  of  those  sad  old  Ital 
ian   tales   of  love  and   woe.     So 
easily  Prue  went  to  Italy  ! 
185 


Thus  the  spring  comes  in  my  heart  as 
well  as  in  the  air,  and  leaps  along  my  veins 
as  well  as  through  the  trees.  I  immediately 
travel.  An  orange  takes  me  to  Sorrento, 
and  roses,  when  they  blow,  to  Psestum.  The 
camellias  in  Aurelia's  hair  bring  Brazil  into 
the  happy  rooms  she  treads,  and  she  takes 
me  to  South  America  as  she  goes  to  dinner. 
The  pearls  upon  her  neck  make  me  free  of 
the  Persian  Gulf.  Upon  her  shawl,  like  the 
Arabian  prince  upon  his  carpet,  I  am  trans 
ported  to  the  vales  of  Cashmere-,  and  thus, 
as  I  daily  walk  in  the  bright  spring  days,  I 
go  round  the  world. 

But  the  season  wakes  a  finer  longing,  a  de 
sire  that  could  only  be  satisfied  if  the  pavil 
ions  of  the  clouds  were  real,  and  I  could 
stroll  among  the  towering  splendors  of  a  sul 
try  spring  evening.  Ah!  if  I  could  leap 
those  flaming  battlements  that  glow  along 
the  west — if  I  could  tread  those  cool,  dewy, 
serene  isles  of  sunset,  and  sink  with  them 
in  the  sea  of  stars  ! 

I  say  so  to  Prue,  and  my  wife  smiles. 

"  But  why  is  it  so  impossible,"  I  ask, 
"  if  you  go  to  Italy  upon  a  magnolia 
branch  ?" 

The  smile  fades  from  her  eyes. 

"  I  went  a  shorter  voyage  than  that,"  she 
answered;  "it  was  only  to  Mr.  Bourne's." 

I  walked   slowly  out   of   the  house,  and 

186 


overlook  Titbottom  as  I  went.  He  smiled 
gravely  as  he  greeted  me,  and  said  : 

"  I  have  been  asked  to  invite  you  to  join 
a  little  pleasure  party." 

"  Where  is  it  going  ?" 

"  Oh  !  anywhere,"  answered  Titbottom. 

"  And  how  ?" 

"  Oh  !  anyhow,"  he  replied. 

"  You  mean  that  everybody  is  to  go  wher 
ever  he  pleases,  and  in  the  way  he  best  can, 
My  dear  Titbottom,  I  have  long  been  one  of 
that  pleasure  party,  although  1  never  heard 
it  called  by  so  pleasant  a  name  before." 

My  companion  said  only  : 

"  If  you  would  like  to  join,  I  will  intro 
duce  you  to  the  party.  I  cannot  go,  but 
they  are  all  on  board." 

I  answered  nothing;  but  Titbottom  drew 
me  along.  We  took  a  boat,  and  put  off  to 
the  most  extraordinary  craft  I  had  ever  seen. 
We  approached  her  stern,  and,  as  I  curious 
ly  looked  at  it,  I  could  think  of  nothing  but 
an  old  picture  that  hung  in  my  father's 
house.  It  was  of  the  Flemish  school,  and 
represented  the  rear  view  of  the  vrouw  of  a 
burgomaster  going  to  market.  The  wide 
yards  of  the  vessel  were  stretched  like  el 
bows,  and  even  the  studding-sails  were 
spread.  The  hull  was  seared  and  blistered, 
and,  in  the  tops,  I  saw  what  I  supposed  to 
be  strings  of  turnips  or  cabbages,  little  round 
187 


masses,  with  tufted  crests ;  but  Titbottom 
assured  me  they  were  sailors. 

We  rowed  hard,  but  came  no  nearer  the 
vessel. 

"  She  is  going  with  the  tide  and  wind," 
said  I ;  "we  shall  never  catch  her." 

My  companion  said  nothing. 

"  But  why  have  they  set  the  studding- 
sails  ?"  asked  I. 

"  She  never  takes  in  any  sails,"  answered 
Titbottom. 

"  The  more  fool  she,"  thought  I,  a  little 
impatiently,  angry  at  not  getting  nearer  to 
the  vessel.  But  I  did  not  say  it  aloud.  I 
would  as  soon  have  said  it  to  Prue  as  to 
Titbottom.  The  truth  is  I  began  to  feel 
a  little  ill  from  the  motion  of  the  boat, 
and  remembered,  with  a  shade  of  regret, 
Prue  and  peppermint.  If  wives  could  only 
keep  their  husbands  a  little  ill,  I  am  con 
fident  they  might  be  very  sure  of  their  con 
stancy. 

But  somehow  the  strange  ship  was  gained, 
and  I  found  myself  among  as  singular  a  com 
pany  as  I  have  ever  seen.  There  were  men 
of  every  country,  and  costumes  of  all  kinds. 
There  was  an  indescribable  mistiness  in  the 
air,  or  a  premature  twilight,  in  which  all  the 
figures  looked  ghostly  and  unreal.  The  ship 
was  of  a  model  such  as  I  had  never  seen, 
and  the  rigging  had  a  musty  odor,  so  that 

1 88 


the  whole  craft  smelled  like  a  ship-chan 
dler's  shop  grown  mouldy.  The  figures  glided 
rather  than  walked  about,  and  I  perceived  a 
strong  smell  of  cabbage  issuing  from  the 
hold. 

But  the  most  extraordinary  thing  of  all 
was  the  sense  of  resistless  motion  which  pos 
sessed  my  mind  the  moment  my  foot  struck 
the  deck.  I  could  have  sworn  we  were  dash 
ing  through  the  water  at  the  rate  of  twenty 
knots  an  hour.  (Prue  has  a  great,  but  a 
little  ignorant,  admiration  of  my  technical 
knowledge  of  nautical  affairs  and  phrases.) 
I  looked  aloft  and  saw  the  sails  taut  with  a 
stiff  breeze,  and  I  heard  a  faint  whistling  of 
the  wind  in  the  rigging,  but  very  faint,  and 
rather,  it  seemed  to  me,  as  if  it  came  from 
the  creak  of  cordage  in  the  ships  of  Crusa 
ders  ;  or  of  quaint  old  craft  upon  the  Span 
ish  main,  echoing  through  re 
mote  years  —  so  far  away  it 
sounded. 

Yet  I  heard  no  orders  giv 
en  ;  I  saw  no  sailors  running 
aloft,  and    only  one   figure 
crouching  over  the  wheel. 
He  was    lost    behind    his 
great  beard  as  behind  a  snow 
drift.     But  the  startling  speed 
with  which  we  scudded  along 
did  not  lift  a  solitary  hair  of 
that  beard,  nor   did   the   old 
189 


and  withered  face  of  the  pilot  betray  any 
curiosity  or  interest  as  to  what  breakers,  or 
reefs,  or  pitiless  shores,  might  be  lying  in 
ambush  to  destroy  us. 

Still  on  we  swept ;  and  as  the  traveller  in 
a  night-train  knows  that  he  is  passing  green 
fields  and  pleasant  gardens  and  winding 
streams  fringed  with  flowers,  and  is  now 
gliding  through  tunnels  or  darting  along  the 
base  of  fearful  cliffs,  so  I  was  conscious 
that  \ve  were  pressing  through  various  cli 
mates  and  by  romantic  shores.  In  vain  I 
peered  into  the  gray  twilight  mist  that  folded 
all.  I  could  only  see  the  vague  figures  that 
grew  and  faded  upon  the  haze,  as  my  eye 
fell  upon  them,  like  the  intermittent  char 
acters  of  sympathetic  ink  when  heat  touches 
them. 

Now,  it  was  a  belt  of  warm,  odorous  air 
in  which  we  sailed,  and  then  cold  as  the 
breath  of  a  polar  ocean.  The  perfume  of 
new-mown  hay  and  the  breath  of  roses  came 
mingled  with  the  distant  music  of  bells  and 
the  twittering  song  of  birds  and  a  low  surf- 
like  sound  of  the  wind  in  summer  woods. 
There  were  all  sounds  of  pastoral  scenes, 
of  a  tranquil  landscape  such  as  Prue  loves 
—and  which  shall  be  painted  as  the  back 
ground  of  her  portrait  whenever  she  sits  to 
any  of  my  many  artist  friends  —  and  that 
pastoral  beauty  shall  be  called  England ;  1 
190 


strained  my  eyes  into  the  cruel  mist  that 
held  all  that  music  and  all  that  suggested 
beauty,  but  I  could  see  nothing.  It  was  so 
sweet  that  I  scarcely  knew  if  I  cared  to  see. 
The  very  thought  of  it  charmed  my  senses 
and  satisfied  my  heart.  I  smelled  and 
heard  the  landscape  that  I  could  not  see. 

Then  the  pungent,  penetrating  fragrance 
of  blossoming  vineyards  was  wafted  across 
the  air;  the  flowery  richness  of  orange 
groves,  and  the  sacred  odor  of  crushed  bay- 
leaves,  such  as  is  pressed  from  them  when 
they  are  strewn  upon  the  flat  pavement  of 
the  streets  of  Florence,  and  gorgeous  priest 
ly  processions  tread  them  underfoot.  Am 
brosial  incense  filled  the  air.  I  smelled  Italy 
— as  in  the  magnolia  from  Bourne's  garden 
— and,  even  while  my  heart  leaped  with  the 
consciousness,  the  odor  passed,  and  a  stretch 
of  burning  silence  succeeded. 

It  was  an  oppressive  zone  of  heat — op 
pressive  not  only  from  its  silence,  but  from 
the  sense  of  awful,  antique  forms,  whether 
of  art  or  nature,  that  were  sitting,  closely 
veiled,  in  that  mysterious  obscurity.  I  shud 
dered  as  I  felt  that  if  my  eyes  could  pierce 
that  mist,  or  if  it  should  lift  and  roll  away, 
I  should  see  upon  a  silent  shore  low  ranges 
of  lonely  hills,  or  mystic  figures  and  huge 
temples  trampled  out  of  history  by  time. 

This,  too,  we  left.  There  was  a  rustling  of 
191 


distant  palms,  the  indistinct  roar  of  beasts, 
and  the  hiss  of  serpents.  Then  all  was  still 
again.  Only  at  times  the  remote  sigh  of  the 
weary  sea,  moaning  around  desolate  isles  un 
discovered  ;  and  the  howl  of  winds  that  had 
never  borne  human  voices,  but  had  rung 
endless  changes  upon  the  sound  of  dashing 
waters,  made  the  voyage  more  appalling  and 
the  figures  around  me  more  fearful. 

As  the  ship  plunged  on  through  all  the 
varying  zones,  as  climate  and  country  drift 
ed  behind  us,  unseen  in  the  gray  mist,  but 
each,  in  turn,  making  that  quaint  craft  Eng 
land  or  Italy,  Africa  and  the  Southern  seas, 
I  ventured  to  steal  a  glance  at  the  motley 
crew,  to  see  what  impression  this  wild  career 
produced  upon  them. 

They  sat  about  the  deck  in  a  hundred 
listless  postures.  Some  leaned  idly  over 
the  bulwarks,  and  looked  wistfully  away 
from  the  ship,  as  if  they  fancied  they  saw 
all  that  I  inferred  but  could  not  see.  As  the 
perfume  and  sound  and  climate  changed, 
I  could  see  many  a  longing  eye  sadden  and 
grow  moist,  and  as  the  chime  of  bells  echoed 
distinctly  like  the  airy  syllables  of  names, 
and,  as  it  were,  made  pictures  in  music  upon 
the  minds  of  those  quaint  mariners  —  then 
dry  lips  moved,  perhaps  to  name  a  name, 
perhaps  to  breathe  a  prayer.  Others  sat 
upon  the  deck,  vacantly  smoking  pipes  that 
192 


required  no  refilling,  but  had  an  immortality 
of  weed  and  fire.     The  more  they  smoked 
the   more    mysterious    they   became.     The 
smoke  made  the   mist   around  them   more 
impenetrable,  and  I  could  clearly  see  that 
those   distant  sounds  gradually  grew  more 
distant,  and,  by  some  of  the  most  desperate 
and  constant  smokers,  were 
heard  no  more.     The 
faces  of  such  had  an 
apathy  which,  had  it 
been  human,  would 
have  been  despair. 

Others  stood   star 
ing  up  into   the  rig 
ging,   as   if   calculating 
when    the   sails    must 
needs  be  rent  and 
the   voyage    end. 
But  there  was  no 
hope  in  their  eyes, 
only  a  bitter  longing. 
Some  paced  restlessly 
up  and  down  the  deck. 
They  had  evidently  been 
walking  a  long,  long  time. 
At  intervals  they,  too,  threw  a 
searching  glance  into  the  mist  that 
enveloped  the  ship,  and   up   into  the  sails 
and  rigging    that  stretched    over    them    in 
hopeless  strength  and  order. 
193 


One  of  the  promenaders  I  especially  no 
ticed.  His  beard  was  long  and  snowy,  like 
that  of  the  pilot.  He  had  a  staff  in  his  hand, 
and  his  movement  was  very  rapid.  His 
body  swung  forward,  as  if  to  avoid  some 
thing,  and  his  glance  half  turned  back  over 
his  shoulder,  apprehensively,  as  if  he  were 
threatened  from  behind.  The  head  and  the 
whole  figure  were  bowed  as  if  under  a 
burden,  although  I  could  not  see  that  he 
had  anything  upon  his  shoulders ;  and  his 
gait  was  not  that  of  a  man  who  is  walking 
off  the  ennui  of  a  voyage,  but  rather  of  a 
criminal  flying,  or  of  a  startled  traveller 
pursued. 

As  he  came  nearer  to  me  in  his  walk,  I 
saw  that  his  features  were  strongly  Hebrew, 
and  there  was  an  air  of  the  proudest  dig 
nity,  fearfully  abased,  in  his  mien  and  ex 
pression.  It  was  more  than  the  dignity  of  an 
individual.  I  could  have  believed  that  the 
pride  of  a  race  was  humbled  in  his  person. 

His  agile  eye  presently  fastened  itself 
upon  me,  as  a  stranger.  He  came  nearer 
and  nearer  to  me,  as  he  paced  rapidly  to 
and  fro,  and  was  evidently  several  times  on 
the  point  of  addressing  me,  but,  looking 
over  his  shoulder  apprehensively,  he  passed 
on.  At  length,  with  a  great  effort,  he  paused 
for  an  instant,  and  invited  me  to  join  him 
in  his  walk.  Before  the  invitation  was  fairly 
194 


uttered  he  was  in  motion  again.  I  followed, 
but  could  not  overtake  him.  He  kept  just 
before  me,  and  turned  occasionally  with  an 
air  of  terror,  as  if  he  fancied  I  were  dogging 
him  ;  then  glided  on  more  rapidly. 

His  face  was  by  no  means  agreeable,  but 
it  had  an  inexplicable  fascination,  as  if  it 
had  been  turned  upon  what  no  other  mortal 
eyes  had  ever  seen.  Yet  I  could  hardly  tell 
whether  it  were,  probably,  an  object  of  su 
preme  beauty  or  of  terror.  He  looked  at 
everything  as  if  he  hoped  its  impression 
might  obliterate  some  anterior  and  awful 
one;  and  I  was  gradually  possessed  with 
the  unpleasant  idea  that  his  eyes  were  never 
closed — that,  in  fact,  he  never  slept. 

Suddenly,  fixing  me  with  his  unnatural, 
wakeful  glare,  he  whispered  something  which 
I  could  not  understand,  and  then  darted  for 
ward  even  more  rapidly,  as  if  he  dreaded 
that,  in  merely  speaking,  he  had  lost  time. 

Still  the  ship  drove  on,  and  I  walked  hur 
riedly  along  the  deck  just  behind  my  com 
panion.  But  our  speed  and  that  of  the  ship 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  mouldy  smell 
of  old  rigging,  and  the  listless  and  lazy 
groups,  smoking  and  leaning  on  the  bul 
warks.  The  seasons,  in  endless  succession 
and  iteration,  passed  over  the  ship.  The 
twilight  was  summer  haze  at  the  stern,  while 
it  was  the  fiercest  winter  mist  at  the  bows. 

'95 


But  as  a  tropical  breath,  like  the  warmth  of 
a  Syrian  day,  suddenly  touched  the  brow  of 
my  companion,  he  sighed,  and  I  could  not 
help  saying: 

"  You  must  be  tired." 

He  only  shook  his  head  and  quickened 
his  pace.  But  now  that  I  had  once  spoken, 
it  was  not  so  difficult  to  speak,  and  I  asked 
him  why  he  did  not  stop  and  rest. 

He  turned  for  a  moment,  and  a  mournful 
sweetness  shone  in  his  dark  eyes  and  hag 
gard,  swarthy  face.  It  played  fittingly 
around  that  strange  look  of  ruined  human 
dignity,  like  a  wan  beam  of  late  sunset 
about  a  crumbling  and  forgotten  temple. 
He  put  his  hand  hurriedly  to  his  forehead, 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  remember  —  like  a 
lunatic,  who,  having  heard  only  the  wrangle 
of  fiends  in  his  delirium,  suddenly,  in  a  con 
scious  moment,  perceives  the  familiar  voice 
of  love.  But  who  could  this  be,  to  whom 
mere  human  sympathy  was  so  startlingly 
sweet  ? 

Still  moving,  he  whispered  with  a  woful 
sadness,  "  I  want  to  stop,  but  I  cannot.  If 
I  could  only  stop  long  enough  to  leap  over 
the  bulwarks  !" 

Then  he  sighed  long  and  deeply,  and  add 
ed,  "  But  I  should  not  drown." 

So  much  had  my  interest  been  excited  by 
his  face  and  movement  that  I  had  not  ob- 
196 


served  the  costume  of  this  strange  being. 
He  wore  a  black  hat  upon  his  head.  It  was 
not  only  black,  but  it  was  shiny.  Even  in 
the  midst  of  this  wonderful  scene,  I  could 
observe  that  it  had  the  artificial  newness  of 
a  second -hand  hat,  and,  at  the  same  mo 
ment,  I  was  disgusted  by  the  odor  of  old 


clothes — very  old  clothes,  indeed.  The  mist 
and  my  sympathy  had  prevented  my  seeing 
before  what  a  singular  garb  the  figure  wore. 
It  was  all  second-hand  and  carefully  ironed, 
but  the  garments  were  obviously  collected 
from  every  part  of  the  civilized  globe.  Good 
heavens  !  as  I  looked  at  the  coat  I  had  a 
strange  sensation.  I  was  sure  that  I  had 
once  worn  that  coat.  It  was  my  wedding 
surtout  —  long  in  the  skirts  —  which  Prue 
had  told  me,  years  and  years  before,  she 
had  given  away  to  the  neediest  Jew  beggar 
she  had  ever  seen. 

The  spectral  figure  dwindled  in  my  fancy 
—  the  features  lost  their  antique  grandeur, 
and  the  restless  eye  ceased  to  be  sublime 
from  immortal  sleeplessness,  and  became 
only  lively  with  mean  cunning.  The  appa 
rition  was  fearfully  grotesque,  but  the  driv 
ing  ship  and  the  mysterious  company  grad 
ually  restored  its  tragic  interest.  I  stopped 
and  leaned  against  the  side  and  heard  the 
rippling  water  that  I  could  not  see,  and  flit 
ting  through  the  mist,  with  anxious  speed, 
the  figure  held  its  way.  What  was  he  fly 
ing  ?  What  conscience  with  relentless  sting 
pricked  this  victim  on  ? 

He  came  again  nearer  and  nearer  to  me 
in  his  walk.  I  recoiled  with  disgust,  this 
time,  no  less  than  terror.  But  he  seemed 
resolved  to  speak,  and  finally,  each  time 


as  he  passed  me,  he  asked  single  questions, 
as  a  ship  which  fires  whenever  it  can  bring 
a  gun  to  bear. 

"Can  you  tell  me  to  what  port  we  are 
bound  ?" 

"No,"  I  replied;  "but  how  came  you  to 
take  passage  without  inquiry  ?  To  me  it 
makes  little  difference." 

"  Nor  do  I  care,"  he  answered,  when  he 
next  came  near  enough  ;  I  have  already 
been  there." 

"  Where  ?"  asked  I. 

"Wherever  we  are  going,"  he  replied.  "I 
have  been  there  a  great  many  times,  and, 
oh  !  I  am  very  tired  of  it." 

"  But  why  are  you  here  at  all,  then  ;  and 
why  don't  you  stop  ?" 

There  was  a  singular  mixture  of  a  hun 
dred  conflicting  emotions  in  his  face  as  I 
spoke.  The  representative  grandeur  of  a 
race,  which  he  sometimes  showed  in  his 
look,  faded  into  a  glance  of  hopeless  and 
puny  despair.  His  eyes  looked  at  me  curi 
ously,  his  chest  heaved,  and  there  was  clear 
ly  a  struggle  in  his  mind  between  some  lofty 
and  mean  desire.  At  times  I  saw  only  the 
austere  suffering  of  ages  in  his  strongly- 
carved  features,  and  again  I  could  see  noth 
ing  but  the  second-hand  black  hat  above 

o 

them.  He  rubbed  his  forehead  with  his 
skinny  hand  ;  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder 


as  if  calculating  whether  he  had  time  to 
speak  to  me,  and  then,  as  a  splendid  defi 
ance  flashed  from  his  piercing  eyes,  so  that 
I  know  how  Milton's  Satan  looked,  he  said, 
bitterly,  and  with  hopeless  sorrow  that  no 
mortal  voice  ever  knew  before  : 

"  I  cannot  stop  :  my  woe  is  infinite,  like 
my  sin  !" — and  he  passed  into  the  mist. 

But  in  a  few  moments  he  reappeared.  I 
could  now  see  only  the  hat,  which  sank  more 
and  more  over  his  face  until  it  covered  it 
entirely ;  and  I  heard  a  querulous  voice, 
which  seemed  to  be  quarrelling  with  itself 
for  saying  what  it  was  compelled  to  say,  so 
that  the  words  were  even  more  appalling 
than  what  it  had  said  before  : 

"Old  clo'!  old  clo'!" 

I  gazed  at  the  disappearing  figure  in 
speechless  amazement,  and  was  still  look 
ing  when  I  was  tapped  upon  the  shoulder, 
and,  turning  round,  saw  a  German  cavalry 
officer  with  a  heavy  mustache  and  a  dog- 
whistle  in  his  hand. 

"  Most  extraordinary  man,  your  friend 
yonder,"  said  the  officer  ;  "  I  don't  remem 
ber  to  have  seen  him  in  Turkey,  and  yet  I 
recognize  upon  his  feet  the  boots  that  I 
wore  in  the  great  Russian  cavalry  charge, 
where  I  individually  rode  down  five  hundred 
and  thirty  Turks,  slew  seven  hundred,  at  a 
moderate  computation,  by  the  mere  force  of 


my  rush,  and,  taking  the  seven  insurmount 
able  walls  of  Constantinople  at  one  clean 
flying  leap,  rode  straight  into  the  seraglio, 
and,  dropping  the  bridle,  cut  the  sultan's 
throat  with  my  bridle-hand,  kissed  the  other 
to  the  ladies  of  the  harem,  and  was  back 
again  within  our  lines  and  taking  a  glass 
of  wine  with  the  hereditary  Grand  Duke 
Generalissimo  before  he  knew  that  I  had 
mounted.  Oddly  enough,  your  old  friend  is 
now  sporting  the  identical  boots  I  wore  on 
that  occasion." 

The  cavalry  officer  coolly  curled  his  mus 
tache  with  his  fingers.  I  looked  at  him  in 
silence. 

"Speaking  of  boots,"  he  resumed,  "I 
don't  remember  to  have  told  you  of  that 
little  incident  of  the  Princess  of  the  Crimea's 
diamonds.  It  was  slight,  but  curious.  I 
was  dining  one  day  with  the  Emperor  of 
the  Crimea,  who  always  had  a  cover  laid  for 
me  at  his  table,  when  he  said,  in  great  per 
plexity,  *  Baron,  my  boy,  I  am  in  straits. 
The  Shah  of  Persia  has  just  sent  me  word 
that  he  has  presented  me  with  two  thousand 
pearl-of-Oman  necklaces,  and  I  don't  know 
how  to  get  them  over,  the  duties  are  so 
heavy.'  '  Nothing  easier,'  replied  I  ;  '  I'll 
bring  them  in  my  boots.'  '  Nonsense  !'  said 
the  Emperor  of  the  Crimea.  '  Nonsense  ! 
yourself,'  replied  I,  sportively  :  for  the  Em- 


peror  of  the  Crimea  always  gives  me  my 
joke ;  and  so  after  dinner  I  went  over  to 
Persia.  The  thing  was  easily  enough  done. 
I  ordered  a  hundred  thousand  pairs  of  boots 
or  so,  filled  them  with  pearls,  said  at  the 
Custom-house  that  they  were  part  of  my 
private  wardrobe,  and  I  had  left  the  blocks 
in  to  keep  them  stretched,  for  I  was  partic 
ular  about  my  bunions.  The  officers  bowed, 
and  said  that  their  own  feet  were  tender, 
upon  which  I  jokingly  remarked  that  I 
wished  their  consciences  were,  and  so  in 
the  pleasantest  manner  possible  the  pearl- 
of-Oman  necklaces  were  bowed  out  of  Per 
sia,  and  the  Emperor  of  the  Crimea  gave 
me  three  thousand  of  them  as  my  share.  It 
was  no  trouble.  It  was  only  ordering  the 
boots,  and  whistling  to  the  infernal  rascals 
of  Persian  shoemakers  to  hang  for  their 
pay." 

I  could  reply  nothing  to  my  new  acquaint 
ance,  but  I  treasured  his  stories  to  tell  to 
Prue,  and  at  length  summoned  courage  to 
ask  him  why  he  had  taken  passage. 

"Pure  fun,"  answered  he  ;  "nothing  else 
under  the  sun."  You  see  it  happened  in 
this  way  :  I  was  sitting  quietly  and  swing 
ing  in  a  cedar  of  Lebanon  on  the  very  sum 
mit  of  that  mountain,  when  suddenly,  feel 
ing  a  little  warm,  I  took  a  brisk  dive  into 
the  Mediterranean,  Now  I  was  careless, 
204 


and  got  going  obliquely,  and  with  the  force 
of  such  a  dive  I  could  not  come  up  near 
Sicily,  as  I  had  intended,  but  I  went  clean 
under  Africa  and  came  out  at  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  and,  as  fortune  would  have  it, 
just  as  this  good  ship  was  passing ;  so  I 
sprang  over  the  side  and  offered  the  crew  to 
treat  all  round  if  they  would  tell  me  where  I 
started  from.  But  I  suppose  they  had  just 
been  piped  to  grog,  for  not  a  man  stirred 
except  your  friend  yonder,  and  he  only  kept 
on  stirring." 

"  Are  you  going  far  ?"  I  asked. 

The   cavalry  officer  looked   a  little   dis 
turbed.    "  I  cannot  precisely  tell,"  answered 
he ;  "  in  fact,  I  wish  I  could." 
And  he  glanced  round  nerv 
ously   at   the    strange    com 
pany. 

"  If  you   should   come 
our  way,  Prue  and  I  will 
be  very  glad  to  see  you," 
said  I,  "  and  I  can  promise 
you  a  warm  welcome  from 
the  children." 

"  Many  thanks," 
said    the    officer, 
and    handed    me 
his  card,  upon  which 
I    read,    "  Le     Baron 
Munch  ausen." 


"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  low  voice  at 
my  side  ;  and,  turning,  I  saw  one  of  the 
most  constant  smokers — a  very  old  man — 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  can  you  tell  me 
where  I  came  from  ?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  I  cannot,"  answered 
I,  as  I  surveyed  a  man  with  a  very  bewil 
dered  and  wrinkled  face,  who  seemed  to  be 
intently  looking  for  something. 

"  Nor  where  I  am  going  ?" 

I  replied  that  it  was  equally  impossible. 
He  mused  a  few  moments,  and  then  said, 
slowly,  "  Do  you  know,  it  is  a  very  strange 
thing  that  I  have  not  found  anybody  who 
can  answer  me  either  of  those  questions. 
And  yet  I  must  have  come  from  some 
where,"  said  he,  speculatively — "yes,  and  I 
must  be  going  somewhere,  and  I  should 
really  like  to  know  something  about  it." 

"  I  observe,"  said  I,  "  that  you  smoke  a 
good  deal,  and  perhaps  you  find  tobacco 
clouds  your  brain  a  little." 

"  Smoke  !  smoke  !"  repeated  he,  sadly, 
dwelling  upon  the  words ;  "  why,  it  all  seems 
smoke  to  me  ;"  and  he  looked  wistfully 
around  the  deck,  and  I  felt  quite  ready  to 
agree  with  him. 

O 

"May  I  ask  what  you  are  here  for,"  in 
quired  I ;  "  perhaps  your  health,  or  business 
of  some  kind ;  although  I  was  told  it  was  a 
pleasure  party  ?" 

306 


"  That's  just  it,"  said  he  ;  "  if  I  only  knew 
where  we  were  going  I  might  be  able  to  say 
something  about  it.  But  where  are  you 
going  ?" 

"  I  am  going  home  as  fast  as  I  can," 
replied  I,  warmly,  for  I  began  to  be  very 
uncomfortable.  The  old  man's  eyes  half 
closed,  and  his  mind  seemed  to  have  struck 
a  scent. 

"  Isn't  that  where  I  was  going  ?  I  believe 
it  is  ;  I  wish  I  knew  ;  I  think  that's  what  it 
is  called.  Where  is  home  ?" 

And  the  old  man  puffed  a  prodigious 
cloud  of  smoke  in  which  he  was  quite  lost. 

"  It  is  certainly  very  smoky,"  said  he.  "  I 
came  on  board  this  ship  to  go  to — in  fact, 
I  meant,  as  I  was  saying,  I  took  passage 
for —  He  smoked  silently.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  but  where  did  you  say  I  was 
going?" 

Out  of  the  mist  where  he  had  been  lean 
ing  over  the  side  and  gazing  earnestly  into 
the  surrounding  obscurity,  now  came  a  pale 
young  man,  and  put  his  arm  in  mine. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have  rather 
a  general  acquaintance,  and,  as  you  know 
many  persons,  perhaps  you  know  many 
things.  I  am  young,  you  see,  but  I  am  a 
great  traveller.  I  have  been  all  over  the 
world,  and  in  all  kinds  of  conveyances ; 
but,"  he  continued,  nervously,  starting  con- 


tinually,  and  looking  around,  "  I  haven't  yet 
got  abroad." 

"  Not  got  abroad,  and  yet  you  have  been 
everywhere  ?" 

"Oh!  yes;  I  know,"  he  replied,  hurried 
ly;  "but  I  mean  that  I  haven't  yet  got  away. 
I  travel  constantly,  but  it  does  no  good  — 
and  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  the  secret  I 
want  to  know.  I  will  pay  any  sum  for  it.  I 
am  very  rich  and  very  young,  and,  if  money 
cannot  buy  it,  I  will  give  as  many  years  of 
my  life  as  you  require." 

He  moved  his  hands  convulsively,  and 
his  hair  was  wet  upon  his  forehead.  He 
was  very  handsome  in  that  mystic  light,  but 
his  eye  burned  with  eagerness,  and  his 
slight,  graceful  frame  thrilled  with  the  ear 
nestness  of  his  emotion.  The  Emperor  Ha 
drian,  who  loved  the  boy  Antinous,  would 
have  loved  the  youth. 

"  But  what  is  it  that  you  wish  to  leave  be 
hind?"  said  I,  at  length,  holding  his  arm 
paternally;  "what  do  you  wish  to  escape?" 

He  threw  his  arms  straight  down  by  his 
side,  clinched  his  hands,  and  looked  fixedly 
in  my  eyes.  The  beautiful  head  was  thrown 
a  little  back  upon  one  shoulder,  and  the 
wan  face  glowed  with  yearning  desire  and 
utter  abandonment  to  confidence,  so  that, 
without  his  saying  it,  I  knew  that  he  had 
never  whispered  the  secret  which  he  was 
208 


r 


about  to  impart  to  me.  Then,  with  a  long 
sigh,  as  if  his  life  were  exhaling,  he  whis 
pered  : 

"  Myself." 

"Ah!  my  boy,  you  are  bound  upon  a 
long  journey." 

"I  know  it,"  he  replied,  mournfully-  "and 
I  cannot  even  get  started.  If  I  don't  get  off 
in  this  ship  I  fear  I  shall  never  escape." 
His  last  words  were  lost  in  the  mist  which 
gradually  removed  him  from  my  view. 

"  The  youth  has  been  amusing  you  with 
some  of  his  wild  fancies,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
a  venerable  man,  who  might  have  been  twin- 
brother  of  that  snowy -bearded  pilot.  "It 
is  a  great  pity  so  promising  a  young  man 
should  be  the  victim  of  such  vagaries." 

He  stood  looking  over  the  side  for  some 
time,  and  at  length  added : 

"  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  arrive 
soon  ?" 

"  Where  ?"  asked  I. 

"Why,  in  Eldorado,  of  course,"  answered 
he.  "  The  truth  is,  I  became  very  tired  of 
that  long  process  to  find  the  Philosopher's 
Stone,  and,  although  I  was  just  upon  the 
point  of  the  last  combination  which  must 
infallibly  have  produced  the  medium,  I 
abandoned  it  when  I  heard  Orellana's  ac 
count,  and  found  that  Nature  had  already 
done  in  Eldorado  precisely  what  I  was  try- 


ing  to  do.  You  see,"  continued  the  old 
man,  abstractedly,  "  I  had  put  youth  and 
love  and  hope,  besides  a  great  many  scarce 
minerals,  into  the  crucible,  and  they  all  dis 
solved  slowly,  and  vanished  in  vapor.  It 
was  curious,  but  they  left  no  residuum  ex 
cept  a  little  ashes,  which  were  not  strong 
enough  to  make  a  lye  to  cure  a  lame  finger. 
But,  as  I  was  saying,  Orellana  told  us  about 
Eldorado  just  in  time,  and  I  thought  if  any 
ship  would  carry  me  there  it  must  be  this. 
But  I  am  very  sorry  to  find  that  any  one 
who  is  in  pursuit  of  such  a  hopeless  goal  as 
that  pale  young  man  yonder,  should  have 
taken  passage.  It  is  only  age,"  he  said, 
slowly  stroking  his  white  beard,  "that  teach 
es  us  wisdom,  and  persuades  us  to  renounce 
the  hope  of  escaping  ourselves  ;  and  just  as 
we  are  discovering  the  Philosopher's  Stone, 
relieves  our  anxiety  by  pointing  the  way  to 
Eldorado." 

"Are  we  really  going  there?"  asked  I,  in 
some  trepidation. 

"  Can  there  be  any  doubt  of  it  ?"  replied 
the  old  man.  "  Where  should  we  be  going, 
if  not  there  ?  However,  let  us  summon  the 
passengers  and  ascertain." 

So  saying,  the  venerable  man  beckoned 
to  the  various  groups  that  were  clustered, 
ghost- like,  in  the  mist  that  enveloped  the 
ship.  They  seemed  to  draw  nearer  with  list- 


less  curiosity,  and  stood  or  sat  near  us, 
smoking  as  before,  or,  still  leaning  on  the 
side,  idly  gazing. 

But  the  restless  figure  who  had  first  ac 
costed  me  still  paced  the  deck,  flitting  in 
and  out  of  the  obscurity ;  and  as  he  passed 
there  was  the  same  mien  of  humbled  pride, 
and  the  air  of  a  fate  of  tragic  grandeur, 
and  still  the  same  faint  odor  of  old  clothes, 
and  the  low,  querulous  cry,  "  Old  clo' !  old 
do' !" 

The  ship  dashed  on.  Unknown  odors 
and  strange  sounds  still  filled  the  air,  and 
all  the  world  went  by  us  as  we  flew,  with  no 
other  noise  than  the  low  gurgling  of  the 
sea  around  the  side. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  reverend  passen 
ger  for  Eldorado,  "  I  hope  there  is  no  mis 
apprehension  as  to  our  destination  ?" 

As  he  said  this  there  was  a  general  move 
ment  of  anxiety  and  curiosity.  Presently 
the  smoker,  who  had  asked  me  where  he 
was  going,  said,  doubtfully : 

"I  don't  know— it  seems  to  me — I  mean 
I  wish  somebody  would  distinctly  say  where 
we  are  going." 

"  I  think  I  can  throw  a  light  upon  this 
subject,"  said  a  person  whom  I  had  not  be 
fore  remarked.  He  was  dressed  like  a  sail 
or,  and  had  a  dreamy  eye.  "  It  is  very  clear 
to  me  where  we  are  going.  I  have  been 
213 


taking  observations  for  some  time,  and  I 

O 

am  glad  to  announce  that  we  are  on  the  eve 
of  achieving  great  fame ;  and  I  may  add," 
said  he,  modestly,  "that  my  own  good  name 
for  scientific  acumen  will  be  amply  vindi 
cated.  Gentlemen,  we  are  undoubtedly  go 
ing  into  the  Hole." 

"  What  hole  is  that  ?"  asked  M.  le  Baron 
Munchausen,  a  little  contemptuously. 

"  Sir,  it  will  make  you  more  famous  than 
you  ever  were  before,"  replied  the  first 
speaker,  evidently  much  irritated. 

"I  am  persuaded  we  are  going  into  no 
such  absurd  place,"  said  the  Baron,  exas 
perated. 

The  sailor  with  the  dreamy  eye  drew 
himself  up  stiffly  and  said  : 

"  Sir,  you  lie  !" 

M.  le  Baron  Munchausen  took  it  in  very 
good  part.  He  smiled,  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"My  friend,"  said  he,  blandly,  "that  is 
precisely  what  I  have  always  heard.  I  am 
glad  you  do  me  no  more  than  justice.  I 
fully  assent  to  your  theory ;  and  your  words 
constitute  me  the  proper  historiographer  of 
the  expedition.  But  tell  me  one  thing,  how 
soon,  after  getting  into  the  Hole,  do  you 
think  we  shall  get  out?" 

"  The  result  will  prove,"  said  the  marine 
gentleman,  handing  the  officer  his  card,  upon 
214 


which  was  written,  "Captain  Symmes."  The 
two  gentlemen  then  walked  aside ;  and  the 
groups  began  to  sway  to  and  fro  in  the 
haze  as  if  not  quite  contented. 

"  Good  God !"  said  the  pale  youth,  run 
ning  up  to  me  and  clutching  my  arm,  "  I 
cannot  go  into  any  Hole  alone  with  myself. 


I  should  die — I  should  kill  myself.  I  thought 
somebody  was  on  board,  and  I  hoped  you 
were  he,  who  would  steer  us  to  the  fountain 
of  oblivion." 

"Very  well,  that  is  in  the  Hole,"  said  M. 
le  Baron,  who  came  out  of  the  mist  at  that 
moment,  leaning  upon  the  Captain's  arm. 
215 


"But  can  I  leave  myself  outside?"  asked 
the  youth,  nervously. 

"Certainly,"  interposed  the  old  Alchemist; 
"you  may  be  sure  that  you  will  not  get  into 
the  Hole  until  you  have  left  yourself  behind." 

The  pale  young  man  grasped  his  hand 
and  gazed  into  his  eyes. 

"  And  then  I  can  drink  and  be  happy," 
murmured  he,  as  he  leaned  over  the  side  of 
the  ship  and  listened  to  the  rippling  water, 
as  if  it  had  been  the  music  of  the  fountain 
of  oblivion. 

"Drink!  drink!"  said  the  smoking  old 
man.  "  Fountain  !  fountain  !  Why,  I  be 
lieve  that  is  what  I  am  after.  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  continued  he,  addressing  the  Al 
chemist.  "  But  can  you  tell  me  if  I  am  look 
ing  for  a  fountain  ?" 

"  The  fountain  of  youth,  perhaps,"  replied 
the  Alchemist. 

"  The  very  thing  !"  cried  the  smoker,  with 
a  shrill  laugh,  while  his  pipe  fell  from  his 
mouth  and  was  shattered  upon  the  deck, 
and  the  old  man  tottered  away  into  the 
mist,  chuckling  feebly  to  himself,  "  Youth  ! 
youth !" 

"  He'll  find  that  in  the  Hole,  too,"  said  the 
Alchemist,  as  he  gazed  after  the  receding 
figure. 

The  crowd  now  gathered  more  nearly 
around  us. 

216 


"  Well,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  Alche 
mist,  "where  shall  we  go,  or,  rather,  where 
are  we  going  ?" 

A  man  in  a  friar's  habit,  with  the  cowl 
closely  drawn  about  his  head,  now  crossed 
himself,  and  whispered  : 

"  I  have  but  one  object.  I  should  not  have 
been  here  if  I  had  not  supposed  we  were  go 
ing  to  find  Prester  John,  to  whom  I  have 
been  appointed  father  confessor,  and  at 
whose  court  I  am  to  live  splendidly,  like  a 
cardinal  at  Rome.  Gentlemen,  if  you  will 
only  agree  that  we  shall  go  there,  you  shall 
all  be  permitted  to  hold  my  train  when  I 
proceed  to  be  enthroned  Bishop  of  Central 
Africa." 

While  he  was  speaking,  another  old  man 
came  from  the  bows  of  the  ship,  a  figure 
which  had  been  so  immovable  in  its  place 
that  I  supposed  it  was  the  ancient  figure 
head  of  the  craft,  and  said,  in  a  low,  hollow 
voice  and  a  quaint  accent : 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  centuries  and  I 
cannot  see  it.  I  supposed  we  were  heading 
for  it.  I  thought  sometimes  I  saw  the  flash 
of  distant  spires,  the  sunny  gleam  of  upland 
pastures,  the  soft  undulation  of  purple  hills. 
Ah  !  me.  I  am  sure  I  heard  the  singing  of 
birds,  and  the  faint  low  of  cattle.  But  I  do 
not  know ;  we  come  no  nearer ;  and  yet  I 
felt  its  presence  in  the  air.  If  the  mist 
217 


would  only  lift,  we  should  see  it  lying  so  fair 
upon  the  sea,  so  graceful  against  the  sky.  I 
fear  we  may  have  passed  it.  Gentlemen," 
said  he,  sadly,  "  I  am  afraid  we  may  have 
lost  the  island  of  Atlantis  forever." 

There  was  a  look  of  uncertainty  in  the 
throng  upon  deck. 

"  But  yet,"  said  a  group  of  young  men  in 
every  kind  of  costume,  and  of  every  country 
and  time,  "  we  have  a  chance  at  the  Encan- 
tadas,  the  Enchanted  Islands.  We  were 
reading  of  them  only  the  other  day,  and  the 
very  style  of  the  story  had  the  music  of 
waves.  How  happy  we  shall  be  to  reach  a 
land  where  there  is  no  work,  nor  tempest, 
nor  pain,  and  we  shall  be  forever  happy." 

"I  am  content  here,"  said  a  laughing 
youth  with  heavily  matted  curls.  "  What  can 
be  better  than  this  ?  We  feel  every  climate, 
the  music  and  the  perfume  of  every  zone 
are  ours.  In  the  starlight  I  woo  the  mer 
maids  as  I  lean  over  the  side,  and  no  en 
chanted  island  will  show  us  fairer  forms.  I 
am  satisfied.  The  ship  sails  on.  We  can 
not  see  but  we  can  dream.  What  work  or 
pain  have  we  here  ?  I  like  the  ship ;  I  like 
the  voyage  ;  I  like  my  company,  and  am 
content." 

As  he  spoke  he  put  something  into  his 
mouth,  and,  drawing  a  white  substance  from 
his  pocket,  offered  it  to  his  neighbor,  saying, 


"  Try  a  bit  of  this  lotus  ;  you  will  find  it 
very  soothing  to  the  nerves,  and  an  infallible 
remedy  for  homesickness." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  M.  le  Baron  Mun- 
chausen,  "  I  have  no  fear.  The  arrange 
ments  are  well  made ;  the  voyage  has  been 
perfectly  planned,  and  each  passenger  will 
discover  what  he  took  passage  to  find  in  the 
Hole  into  which  we  are  going,  under  the 
auspices  of  this  worthy  Captain." 

He  ceased,  and  silence  fell  upon  the  ship's 
company.  Still  on  we  swept ;  it  seemed  a 
weary  way.  The  tireless  pedestrians  still 
paced  to  and  fro,  and  the  idle  smokers 
puffed.  The  ship  sailed  on,  and  endless 
music  and  odor  chased  each  other  through 
the  misty  air.  Suddenly  a  deep  sigh  drew 
universal  attention  to  a  person  who  had  not 
yet  spoken.  He  held  a  broken  harp  in  his 
hand,  the  strings  fluttered  loosely  in  the  air, 
and  the  head  of  the  speaker,  bound  with  a 
withered  wreath  of  laurels,  bent  over  it. 

"  No,  no,"  said  he,  "  I  will  not  eat  your 
lotus,  nor  sail  into  the  Hole.  No  magic 
root  can  cure  the  homesickness  I  feel ;  for 
it  is  no  regretful  remembrance,  but  an  im 
mortal  longing.  I  have  roamed  farther  than 
I  thought  the  earth  extended.  I  have 
climbed  mountains  ;  I  have  threaded  rivers  ; 
I  have  sailed  seas  ;  but  nowhere  have  I  seen 
the  home  for  which  my  heart  aches.  Ah! 


\ 


my  friends,  you  look  very  weary ;  let  us  go 
home.'' 

The  pedestrian  paused  a  moment  in  his 
walk,  and  the  smokers  took  their  pipes  from 
their  mouths.  The  soft  air  which  blew  in 
that  moment  across  the  deck  drew  a  low 
sound  from  the  broken  harp-strings,  and  a 
light  shone  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  man  of 
the  figure-head,  as  if  the  mist  had  lifted  for 
an  instant  and  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  lost  Atlantis. 

"  I  really  believe  that  is  where  I  wish  to 
go,"  said  the  seeker  of  the  fountain  of 
youth.  "  I  think  I  would  give  up  drinking 
at  the  fountain  if  I  could  get  there.  I  do 
not  know,"  he  murmured,  doubtfully;  "it 
is  not  sure ;  I  mean,  perhaps,  I  should  not 
have  strength  to  get  to  the  fountain,  even  if 
I  were  near  it." 

"  But  is  it  possible  to  get  home  ?"  inquired 
the  pale  young  man.  "  I  think  I  should  be 
resigned  if  I  could  get  home." 

"Certainly,"  said  the  dry,  hard  voice  of 
Prester  John's  confessor,  as  his  cowl  fell  a 
little  back,  and  a  sudden  flush  burned  upon 
his  gaunt  face,  "  if  there  is  any  chance  of 
home,  I  will  give  up  the  Bishop's  palace  in 
Central  Africa." 

"  But  Eldorado  is  my  home,"  interposed 
the  old  Alchemist. 

"  Or  is  home  Eldorado  ?"  asked  the  poet 


with  the  withered  wreath,  turning  towards 
the  Alchemist. 

It  was  a  strange  company  and  a  won 
drous  voyage.  Here  were  all  kinds  of  men, 
of  all  times  and  countries,  pursuing  the 
wildest  hopes,  the  most  chimerical  desires. 
One  took  me  aside  to  request  that  I  would 
not  let  it  be  known,  but  that  he  inferred 
from  certain  signs  we  were  nearing  Utopia. 
Another  whispered  gayly  in  my  ear  that  he 
thought  the  water  was  gradually  becoming 
of  a  ruby  color — the  hue  of  wine  ;  and  he 
had  no  doubt  we  should  wake  in  the  morn 
ing  and  find  ourselves  in  the  land  of  Cock 
aigne.  A  third,  in  great  anxiety,  stated  to 
me  that  such  continuous  mists  were  un 
known  upon  the  ocean  ;  that  they  were  pe 
culiar  to  rivers,  and  that,  beyond  question, 
we  were  drifting  along  some  stream,  prob 
ably  the  Nile,  and  immediate  measures 
ought  to  be  taken  that  we  did  not  go  ashore 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountains  of  the  moon. 
Others  were  quite  sure  that  we  were  in  the 
way  of  striking  the  great  southern  continent ; 
and  a  young  man,  who  gave  his  name  as 
Wilkins,  said  we  might  be  quite  at  ease,  for 
presently  some  friends  of  his  would  come 
flying  over  from  the  neighboring  islands  and 
tell  us  all  we  wished. 

Still  I  smelled  the  mouldy  rigging,  and  the 
odor  of  cabbage  was  strong  from  the  hold. 


0  Prue,  what  could  the  ship  be,  in  which 
such  fantastic  characters  were  sailing  tow 
ards  impossible  bournes — characters  which 
in  every  age   have  ventured  all  the  bright 
capital  of  life  in  vague  speculations  and  ro 
mantic  dreams  ?     What  could  it  be  but  the 
ship  that  haunts  the  sea  forever,  and,  with 
all  sails  set,  drives  onward  before  a  cease 
less  gale,  and  is  not  hailed,  nor  ever  comes 
to  port  ? 

1  know  the  ship  is  always  full ;  I  know 
the  graybeard  still  watches  at  the  prow  for 
the  lost  Atlantis,  and  still  the  Alchemist  be 
lieves  that  Eldorado  is  at  hand.     Upon  his 
aimless  quest  the  dotard  still  asks  where  he 
is  going,  and  the  pale  youth  knows  that  he 
shall   never  fly  himself.      Yet    they  would 
gladly  renounce   that   wild  chase   and  the 
dear  dreams  of  years,  could  they  find  what 
I  have  never  lost.     They  were  ready  to  fol 
low  the  poet  home  if  he  would  have  told 
them  where  it  lay. 

I  know  wrhere  it  lies.  I  breathe  the  soft 
air  of  the  purple  uplands  which  they  shall 
never  tread.  I  hear  the  sweet  music  of  the 
voices  they  long  for  in  vain.  I  am  no  trav 
eller  ;  my  only  voyage  is  to  the  office  and 
home  again.  William  and  Christopher, 
John  and  Charles,  sail  to  Europe  and  the 
South,  but  I  defy  their  romantic  distances. 
When  the  spring  comes  and  the  flowers 


blow,  I  drift  through  the  year  belted  with 
summer  and  with  spice. 

With  the  changing  months  I  keep  high 
carnival  in  all  the  zones.  1  sit  at  home  and 
walk  with  Prue ;  and  if  the  sun  that  stirs 
the  sap  quickens  in  me  the  wish  to  wander, 
I  remember  my  fellow-voyagers  on  that  ro 
mantic  craft,  and  looking  round  upon  my 
peaceful  room,  and  pressing  more  closely 
the  arm  of  Prue,  I  feel  that  I  have  reached 
the  port  for  which  they  hopelessly  sailed. 
And  when  winds  blow  fiercely  and  the  night- 
storm  rages,  and  the  thought  of  lost  mari 
ners  and  of  perilous  voyages  touches  the 
soft  heart  of  Prue,  I  hear  a  voice  sweeter  to 
my  ear  than  that  of  the  sirens  to  the  tem 
pest-tossed  sailor:  "Thank  God!  Your 
only  cruising  is  in  the  Flying  Dutchman  !" 


FAMILY  PORTRAITS 


"Look  here  upon  tins  picture,  and  on  tin's.'1'' 

—Hamlet. 


WE  have  no  family  pictures,  Prue  and  I, 
only  a  portrait  of  my  grandmother  hangs 
upon  our  parlor  wall.  It  was  taken  at  least 
a  century  ago,  and  represents  the  venerable 
lady,  whom  I  remember  in  my  childhood  in 
spectacles  and  comely  cap,  as  a  young  and 
blooming  girl. 

She  is  sitting  upon  an  old-fashioned  sofa, 
by  the  side  of  a  prim  aunt  of  hers,  and 
with  her  back  to  the  open  window.  Her 
costume  is  quaint  but  handsome.  It  is 
a  cream  -  colored  dress  made  high  in  the 
throat,  ruffled  around  the  neck  and  over 
the  bosom  and  shoulders.  The  waist  is  just 
under  her  shoulders,  and  the  sleeves  are 
tight,  tighter  than  any  of  our  coat-sleeves, 
227 


and  also  ruffled  at  the  wrist.  Around  the 
plump  and  rosy  neck,  which  I  remember  as 
shrivelled  and  sallow,  and  hidden  under  a 
decent  lace  handkerchief,  hangs,  in  the  pict 
ure,  a  necklace  of  large  ebony  beads.  There 
are  two  curls  upon  the  forehead,  and  the 
rest  of  the  hair  flows  away  in  ringlets  down 
the  neck. 

The  hands  hold  an  open  book :  the  eyes 
look  up  from  it  with  tranquil  sweetness,  and 
through  the  open  window  behind  you  see  a 
quiet  landscape — a  hill,  a  tree,  the  glimpse 
of  a  river,  and  a  few  peaceful  summer  clouds. 

Often  in  my  younger  days,  when  my  grand 
mother  sat  by  the  fire  after  dinner  lost  in 
thought  —  perhaps  remembering  the  time 
when  the  picture  was  really  a  portrait — I 
have  curiously  compared  her  wasted  face 
with  the  blooming  beauty  of  the  girl,  and 
tried  to  detect  the  likeness.  It  was  strange 
how  the  resemblance  would  sometimes  start 
out;  how,  as  I  gazed  and  gazed  upon  her 
old  face,  age  disappeared  before  my  eager 
glance  as  snow  melts  in  the  sunshine,  re 
vealing  the  flowers  of  a  forgotten  spring. 

It  was  touching  to  see  my  grandmother 
steal  quietly  up  to  her  portrait,  on  still  sum 
mer  mornings  when  every  one  had  left  the 
house — and  I,  the  only  child,  played,  disre 
garded — and  look  at  it  wistfully  and  long. 

She  held  her  hand  over  her  eyes  to  shade 
228 


them  from  the  light  that  streamed  in  at  the 
window,  and  I  have  seen  her  stand  at  least 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  gazing  steadfastly  at 
the  picture.  She  said  nothing,  she  made 
no  motion,  she  shed  no  tear,  but  when  she 
turned  away  there  was  always  a  pensive 
sweetness  in  her  face  that  made  it  not  less 
lovely  than  the  face  of  her  youth. 

I  have  learned  since  what  her  thoughts 
must  have  been — how  that  long,  wistful 
glance  annihilated  time  and  space,  how 
forms  and  faces  unknown  to  any  oth 

er  arose  in   sudden  res 
urrection   around   her — 
I  how   she    loved,   suf 

fered,   struggled    and 
conquered    again; 
how  many  a   jest 


that  I  shall  never  hear,  how  many  a  game 
that  I  shall  never  play,  how  many  a  song 
that  I  shall  never  sing,  were  all  renewed 
and  remembered  as  my  grandmother  con 
templated  her  picture. 

I  often  stand,  as  she  stood,  gazing  ear 
nestly  at  the  picture,  so  long  and  so  silently 
that  Prue  looks  up  from  her  work  and  says 
she  shall  be  jealous  of  that  beautiful  belle, 
my  grandmother,  who  yet  makes  her  think 
more  kindly  of  those  remote  old  times. 

"Yes,  Prue,  and  that  is  the  charm  of  a 
family  portrait." 

"  Yes,  again ;  but,"  says  Titbottom  when 
he  hears  the  remark,  "how,  if  one's  grand 
mother  were  a  shrew,  a  termagant,  a  virago  ?" 

"Ah  !  in  that  case—"  I  am  compelled  to 
say,  while  Prue  looks  up  again,  half  archly, 
and  I  add,  gravely  —  "  you,  for  instance, 
Prue." 

Then  Titbottom  smiles  one  of  his  sad 
smiles,  and  we  change  the  subject. 

Yet  I  am  always  glad  when  Minim  Scul- 
pin,  our  neighbor,  who  knows  that  my  op 
portunities  are  few,  comes  to  ask  me  to  step 
round  and  see  the  family  portraits. 

The  Sculpins,  I  think,  are  a  very  old 
family.  Titbottom  says  they  date  from  the 
deluge.  But  I  thought  people  of  English 
descent  preferred  to  stop  with  William  the 
Conqueror,  who  came  from  France. 
230 


Before  going  with  Minim,  I  always  fortify 
myself  with  a  glance  at  the  great  family 
Bible,  in  which  Adam,  Eve,  and  the  patri 
archs  are  indifferently  well  represented. 

"  Those  are  the  ancestors  of  the  Howards, 
the  Plantagenets,  and  the  Montmorencis," 
says  Prue,  surprising  me  with  her  erudition. 
"  Have  you  any  remoter  ancestry,  Mr.  Scul- 
pin  ?"  she  asks  Minim,  who  only  smiles  com 
passionately  upon  the  dear  woman  while  I 
am  buttoning  my  coat. 

Then  we  step  along  the  street,  and  I  am 
conscious  of  trembling  a  little,  for  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  going  to  court.  Suddenly  we  are 
standing  before  the  range  of  portraits. 

"This,"  says  Minim,  with  unction,  "is 
Sir  Solomon  Sculpin,  the  founder  of  the 
family." 

"  Famous  for  what  ?"  I  ask,  respectfully. 

"  For  founding  the  family,"  replies  Minim, 
gravely,  and,  I  have  sometimes  thought,  a 
little  severely. 

"  This,"  he  says,  pointing  to  a  dame  in 
hoops  and  diamond  stomacher,  "  this  is 
Lady  Sheba  Sculpin." 

"Ah  !  yes.    Famous  for  what  ?"  I  inquire. 

"  For  being  the  wife  of  Sir  Solomon." 

Then  in  order  comes  a  gentleman   in  a 
huge  curling  wig,  looking  indifferently  like 
James  the  Second,  or  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
and  holding  a  scroll  in  his  hand. 
231 


"The  Right  Honorable  Haddock  Scul- 
pin,  Lord  Privy  Seal,  etc.,  etc." 

A  delicate  beauty  hangs  between,  a  face 
fair  and  loved  and  lost  centuries  ago  —  a 
song  to  the  eye — a  poem  to  the  heart — the 
Aurelia  of  that  old  society. 

"  Lady  Dorothea  Sculpin,  who  married 
young  Lord  Pop  and  Cock,  and  died  pre 
maturely  in  Italy." 

Poor  Lady  Dorothea !  whose  great-grand 
child,  in  the  fifth  remove,  died  last  week 
an  old  man  of  eighty ! 

Next  the  gentle  lady  hangs  a  fierce  figure 
flourishing  a  sword,  with  an  anchor  em 
broidered  on  his  coat -collar,  and  thunder 
and  lightning,  sinking  ships,  flames  and  tor 
nadoes  in  the  background. 

"  Rear  Admiral  Sir  Shark  Sculpin,  who 
fell  in  the  great  action  off  Madagascar." 

So  Minim  goes  on  through  the  series, 
brandishing  his  ancestors  about  my  head, 
and  incontinently  knocking  me  into  admira 
tion. 

And  when  we  reach  the  last  portrait  and 
our  own  times,  what  is  the  natural  emotion  ? 
Is  it  not  to  put  Minim  against  the  wall, 
draw  off  at  him  with  my  eyes  and  mind, 
scan  him,  and  consider  his  life,  and  deter 
mine  how  much  of  the  Right  Honorable 
Haddock's  integrity,  and  the  Lady  Doro 
thy's  loveliness,  and  the  Admiral  Shark's 
232 


valor,  reappears  in  the  modern  man  ?  After 
all  this  proving  and  refining,  ought  not  the 
last  child  of  a  famous  race  to  be  its  flower 
and  epitome  ?  Or,  in  the  case  that  he  does 
not  chance  to  be  so,  is  it  not  better  to  con 
ceal  the  family  name  ? 

I  am  told,  however,  that  in  the  higher 
circles  of  society  it  is  better  not  to  conceal 
the  name,  however  unworthy  the  man  or 
woman  may  be  who  bears  it.  Prue  once 
remonstrated  with  a  lady  about  the  mar 
riage  of  a  lovely  young  girl  with  a  cousin  of 
Minim's ;  but  the  only  answer  she  received 
was,  "  Well,  he  may  not  be  a  perfect  man, 
but  then  he  is  a  Sculpin,"  which  considera 
tion  apparently  gave  great  comfort  to  the 
lady's  mind. 

But  even  Prue  grants  that  Minim  has 
some  reason  for  his  pride.  Sir  Solomon 
was  a  respectable  man  and  Sir  Shark  a 
brave  one,  and  the  Right  Honorable  Had 
dock  a  learned  one ;  the  Lady  Sheba  was 
grave  and  gracious  in  her  way,  and  the 
smile  of  the  fair  Dorothea  lights  with  soft 
sunlight  those  long -gone  summers.  The 
filial  blood  rushes  more  gladly  from  Mi 
nim's  heart  as  he  gazes ;  and  admiration 
for  the  virtues  of  his  kindred  inspires  and 
sweetly  mingles  with  good  resolutions  of 
his  own. 

Time  has  its  share,  too,  in  the  ministry 
235 


and  the  influence.  The  hills  beyond  the 
river  lay  yesterday  at  sunset  lost  in  purple 
gloom  ;  they  receded  into  airy  distances  of 
dreams  and  faerie ;  they  sank  softly  into 
night,  the  peaks  of  the  delectable  mount 
ains.  But  I  knew,  as  I  gazed  enchanted, 
that  the  hills,  so  purple -soft  of  seeming, 
were  hard  and  gray  and  barren  in  the  win 
try  twilight ;  and  that  in  the  distance  was 
the  magic  that  made  them  fair. 

So,  beyond  the  river  of  time  that  flows 
between,  walk  the  brave  men  and  the  beau 
tiful  women  of  our  ancestry,  grouped  in 
twilight  upon  the  shore.  Distance  smooths 
away  defects,  and,  with  gentle  darkness, 
rounds  every  form  into  grace.  It  steals  the 
harshness  from  their  speech,  and  every  word 
becomes  a  song.  Far  across  the  gulf  that 
ever  widens,  they  look  upon  us  with  eyes 
whose  glance  is  tender,  and  which  light  us 
to  success.  We  acknowledge  our  inherit 
ance  ;  we  accept  our  birthright ;  we  own 
that  their  careers  have  pledged  us  to  noble 
action.  Every  great  life  is  an  incentive  to 
all  other  lives ;  but  when  the  brave  heart 
that  beats  for  the  world  loves  us  with  the 
warmth  of  private  affection,  then  the  exam 
ple  of  heroism  is  more  persuasive,  because 
more  personal. 

This  is  the  true  pride  of  ancestry.  It  is 
founded  in  the  tenderness  with  which  the 
236 


child  regards  the  father,  and  in  the  romance 
that  time  sheds  upon  history. 

"  Where  be  all  the  bad  people  buried  ?" 
asks  every  man,  with  Charles  Lamb,  as  he 
strolls  among  the  rank  graveyard  grass,  and 
brushes  it  aside  to  read  of  the  faithful  hus 
band  and  the  loving  wife  and  the  dutiful 
child. 

He  finds  only  praise  in  the  epitaphs  be 
cause  the  human  heart  is  kind ;  because  it 
yearns  with  wistful  tenderness  after  all  its 
237 


brethren  who  have  passed  into  the  cloud, 
and  it  will  only  speak  well  of  the  departed. 
No  offence  is  longer  an  offence  when  the 
grass  is  green  over  the  offender.  Even 
faults  then  seem  characteristic  and  individ 
ual.  Even  Justice  is  appeased  when  the 
drop  falls.  How  the  old  stories  and  plays 
teem  with  the  incident  of  the  duel  in  which 
one  gentleman  falls,  and,  in  dying,  forgives 
and  is  forgiven.  We  turn  the  page  with  a 
tear.  How  much  better  had  there  been  no 
offence,  but  how  well  that  death  wipes  it 
out. 

It  is  not  observed  in  history  that  families 
improve  with  time.  It  is  rather  discovered 
that  a  family  is  apt  to  resemble  a  comet,  of 
which  the  brightest  part  is  the  head;  and 
the  tail,  although  long  and  luminous,  is 
gradually  shaded  into  obscurity. 

Yet,  by  a  singular  compensation,  the  pride 
of  ancestry  increases  in  the  ratio  of  distance. 
Adam  was  valiant,  and  did  so  well  at  Poic- 
tiers  that  he  was  knighted — a  hearty,  home 
ly  country  gentleman,  who  lived  humbly  to 
the  end.  But  young  Lucifer,  his  represent 
ative  in  the  long  remove,  has  a  tinder- 
like  conceit  because  old  Sir  Adam  was  so 
brave  and  humble.  Sir  Adam's  sword  is 
hung  up  at  home,  and  Lucifer  has  a  box  at 
the  opera.  On  a  thin  finger  he  has  a  ring, 
cut  with  a  match  fizzling,  the  crest  of  the 
238 


Lucifers.  But  if  he  should  be  at  a  Pole- 
tiers,  he  would  run  away.  Then  history 
would  be  sorry — not  only  for  his  cowardice, 
but  for  the  shame  it  brings  upon  old  Adam's 
name. 

So,  if  Minim  Sculpin  is  a  bad  young  man, 
he  not  only  shames  himself,  but  he  dis 
graces  that  illustrious  line  of  ancestors 
whose  characters  are  known.  His  neigh 
bor,  Mudge,  has  no  pedigree  of  this  kind, 
and  when  he  reels  homeward  we  do  not 
suffer  the  sorrow  of  any  fair  Lady  Dorothy 
in  such  a  descendant — we  pity  him  for  him 
self  alone.  But  genius  and  power  are  so 
imperial  and  universal  that  when  Minim 
Sculpin  falls  we  are  grieved,  not  only  for 
him,  but  for  that  eternal  truth  and  beauty 
which  appeared  in  the  valor  of  Sir  Shark 
and  the  loveliness  of  Lady  Dorothy.  His 
neighbor  Mudge's  grandfather  may  have 
been  quite  as  valorous  and  virtuous  as  Scul- 
pin's ;  but  we  know  of  the  one,  and  we  do 
not  know  of  the  other. 

Therefore,  Prue,  I  say  to  my  wife,  who  has 
by  this  time  fallen  as  soundly  asleep  as  if 
I  had  been  preaching  a  real  sermon,  do  not 
let  Mrs.  Mudge  feel  hurt  because  I  gaze 
so  long  and  earnestly  upon  the  portrait  of 
the  fair  Lady  Sculpin,  and,  lost  in  dreams, 
mingle  in  a  society  which  distance  and 
poetry  immortalize. 


The  family  portraits  have  a  poetic  signifi 
cance  ;  but  he  is  a  brave  child  of  the  family 
who  dares  to  show  them.  They  all  sit  in 
passionless  and  austere  judgment  upon  him 
self.  Let  him  not  invite  us  to  see  them 
until  he  has  considered  whether  they  are 
honored  or  disgraced  by  his  own  career — 
until  he  has  looked  in  the  glass  of  his  own 
thought  and  scanned  his  own  proportions. 

The  family  portraits  are  like  a  woman's 
diamonds  ;  they  may  flash  finely  enough  be 
fore  the  world,  but  she  herself  trembles  lest 
their  lustre  eclipse  her  eyes.  It  is  difficult 
to  resist  the  tendency  to  depend  upon  those 
portraits,  and  to  enjoy  vicariously  through 
them  a  high  consideration.  But,  after  all, 


what  girl 


is  complimented  when    you   cu 
riously  regard  her  because  her 
mother  was  beautiful  ?  What  at 
tenuated  consumptive,  in  whom 
self-respect  is  yet  unconsumed, 
delights    in    your    respect    for 
him,  founded  in  honor  for  his 
stalwart  ancestor  ? 

No  man  worthy  the  name  re 
joices  in  any  homage  which  his 
own  effort  and  character  have 
not    deserved.      You    intrinsic 
ally  insult  him  when  you  make 
him   the   scapegoat   of  your   ad 
miration  for  his  ancestor.     But 


when  his  ancestor  is  his  accessory,  then 
your  homage  would  flatter  Jupiter.  All  that 
Minim  Sculpin  does  by  his  own  talent  is 
the  more  radiantly  set  and  ornamented  by 
the  family  fame.  The  imagination  is  pleased 
when  Lord  John  Russell  is  Premier  of  Eng 
land  and  a  Whig,  because  the  great  Lord 
William  Russell,  his  ancestor,  died  in  Eng 
land  for  liberty. 

In  the  same  way  Minim's  sister  Sara  adds 
to  her  own  grace  the  sweet  memory  of  the 
Lady  Dorothy.  When  she  glides,  a  sun 
beam,  through  that  quiet  house,  and  in  win 
ter  makes  summer  by  her  presence;  when 
she  sits  at  the  piano,  singing  in  the  twilight, 
or  stands  leaning  against  the  Venus  in  the 
corner  of  the  room — herself  more  graceful 
—then,  in  glancing  from  her  to  the  portrait 
of  the  gentle  Dorothy,  you  feel  that  the  long 
years  between  them  have  been  lighted  by 
the  same  sparkling  grace,  and  shadowed  by 
the  same  pensive  smile — for  this  is  but  one 
Sara  and  one  Dorothy,  out  of  all  that  there 
are  in  the  world. 

As  we  look  at  these  two,  we  must  own 
that  noblesse  oblige  in  a  sense  sweeter  than 
we  knew,  and  be  glad  when  young  Sculpin 
invites  us  to  see  the  family  portraits.  Could 
a  man  be  named  Sidney,  and  not  be  a  bet 
ter  man,  or  Milton,  and  be  a  churl  ? 

But  it  is  apart  from  any  historical  associa- 
241 


tion  that  I  like  to  look  at  the  family  portraits. 
The  Sculpins  were  very  distinguished  heroes 
and  judges  and  founders  of  families ;  but  I 
chiefly  linger  upon  their  pictures  because 
they  were  men  and  women.  Their  portraits 


kmm 


remove  the  vagueness  from  history  and  give 
it  reality.  Ancient  valor  and  beauty  cease 
to  be  names  and  poetic  myths,  and  become 
facts.  I  feel  that  they  lived  and  loved  and 
suffered  in  those  old  days.  The  story  of 
their  lives  is  instantly  full  of  human  sym- 
242 


pathy  in  my  mind,  and  I  judge  them  more 
gently,  more  generously. 

Then  I  look  at  those  of  us  who  are  the 
spectators  of  the  portraits.  I  know  that  we 
are  made  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  that 
time  is  preparing  us  to  be  placed  in  his  cab 
inet  and  upon  canvas,  to  be  curiously  stud 
ied  by  the  grandchildren  of  unborn  Prues. 
I  put  out  my  hands  to  grasp  those  of  my 
fellows  around  the  pictures.  "Ah  !  friends, 
we  live  not  only  for  ourselves.  Those  whom 
we  shall  never  see  will  look  to  us  as  models, 
as  counsellors.  We  shall  be  speechless  then. 
We  shall  only  look  at  them  from  the  can 
vas  and  cheer  or  discourage  them  by  their 
idea  of  our  lives  and  ourselves.  Let  us  so 
look  in  the  portrait  that  they  shall  love  our 
memories  —  that  they  shall  say,  in  turn, 
'  they  were  kind  and  thoughtful,  those  queer 
old  ancestors  of  ours :  let  us  not  disgrace 
them.'  " 

If  they  only  recognize  us  as  men  and 
women  like  themselves,  they  will  be  the 
better  for  it,  and  the  family  portraits  will  be 
family  blessings.  This  is  what  my  grand 
mother  did.  She  looked  at  her  own  por 
trait,  at  the  portrait  of  her  youth,  with  much 
the  same  feeling  that  I  remember  Prue  as 
she  was  when  I  first  saw  her;  with  much 
the  same  feeling  that  I  hope  our  grand 
children  will  remember  us. 
243 


Upon  those  still  summer  mornings,  though 
she  stood  withered  and  wan  in  a  plain  black 
silk  gown,  a  close  cap,  and  spectacles,  and 
held  her  shrunken  and  blue-veined  hand  to 
shield  her  eyes,  yet,  as  she  gazed  with  that 
long  and  longing  glance  upon  the  blooming 
beauty  that  had  faded  from  her  form  for 
ever,  she  recognized  under  that  flowing  hair 
and  that  rosy  cheek — the  immortal  fashions 
of  youth  and  health  —  and  beneath  those 
many  ruffles  and  that  quaint  high  waist,  the 
fashions  of  the  day — the  same  true  and  lov 
ing  woman.  If  her  face  was  pensive  as  she 
turned  away,  it  was  because  truth  and  love 
are,  in  their  essence,  forever  young ;  and  it 
is  the  hard  condition  of  nature  that  they 
cannot  always  appear  so. 


OUR  COUSIN  THE   CURATE 


fW'*    v{^^'*^^^;'^ 


"  Wby,  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 

The  hart  ungalled  play  ; 
For  some  must  watch  while  sonic  must  sleep; 
Thus  runs  the  world  away" 


PRUE  and  I  have  very  few  relations: 
Prue,  especially,  says  that  she  never  had 
any  but  her  parents,  and  that  she  has  none 
now  but  her  children.  She  often  wishes  she 
had  some  large  aunt  in  the  country,  who 
might  come  in  unexpectedly  with  bags  and 
bundles,  and  encamp  in  our  little  house  for 
a  whole  winter. 

"  Because  you  are  tired  of  me,  I  suppose, 
Mrs.  Prue  ?"  I  reply  with  dignity,  when  she 
alludes  to  the  imaginary  large  aunt. 

"  You  could  take  aunt  to  the  opera,  you 
know,  and  walk  with  her  on  Sundays,"  says 
Prue,  as  she  knits  and  calmly  looks  me  in 
the  face,  without  recognizing  my  observa 
tion. 

Then  I  tell  Prue  in  the  plainest  possible 
manner  that,  if  her  large  aunt  should  come 
247 


up  from  the  country  to  pass  the  winter,  I 
should  insist  upon  her  bringing  her  oldest 
daughter,  with  whom  I  would  flirt  so  des 
perately  that  the  street  would  be  scandal 
ized,  and  even  the  corner  grocery  should 
gossip  over  the  iniquity. 

"Poor  Prue,  how  I  should  pity  you!"  I 
say,  triumphantly,  to  my  wife. 

"  Poor  oldest  daughter,  how  I  should  pity 
her !"  replies  Prue,  placidly  counting  her 
stitches. 

So  the  happy  evening  passes,  as  we  gayly 
mock  each  other,  and  wonder  how  old  the 
large  aunt  should  be,  and  how  many  bun 
dles  she  ought  to  bring  with  her. 

"  I  would  have  her  arrive  by  the  late  train 
at  midnight,"  says  Prue ,  "  and  when  she 
had  eaten  some  supper  and  had  gone  to  her 
room,  she  should  discover  that  she  had  left 
the  most  precious  bundle  of  all  in  the  cars, 
without  whose  contents  she  could  not  sleep, 
nor  dress,  and  you  would  start  to  hunt 
for  it." 

And  the  needle  clicks  faster  than  ever. 

"  Yes,  and  when  I  am  gone  to  the  office 
in  the  morning,  and  am  busy  about  impor 
tant  affairs  — yes,  Mrs.  Prue,  important  af 
fairs,"  I  insist,  as  my  wife  half  raises  her 
head  incredulously  —  "  then  our  large  aunt 
from  the  country  would  like  to  go  shopping, 
and  would  want  you  for  her  escort.  And 
248 


she  would  cheapen  tape  at  all  the  shops, 
and  even  to  the  great  Stewart  himself  she 
would  offer  a  shilling  less  for  the  gloves. 
Then  the  comely  clerks  of  the  great  Stewart 
would  look  at  you,  with  their  brows  lifted, 
as  if  they  said,  '  Mrs.  Prue,  your  large  aunt 
had  better  stay  in  the  country.'" 

And  the  needle  clicks  more  slowly,  as  if 
the  tune  were  changing. 

The  large  aunt  will  never  come,  I  know ; 
nor  shall  I  ever  flirt  with  the  oldest  daugh 
ter.  I  should  like  to  believe  that  our  little 
house  will  teem  with  aunts  and  cousins 
when  True  and  I  are  gone ;  but  how  can  I 
believe  it,  when  there  is  a 
milliner  within  three  doors, 
and  a  hair-dresser  combs  his 
wigs  in  the  late  dining-room 
of  my  opposite  neighbor  ? 
The  large  aunt  from  the 
country  is  entirely  impos 
sible,  and  as  Prue  feels  it 
and  I  feel  it,  the  nee 
dles  seem  to  click  a 
dirge  for  that  late 
lamented  lady. 

"  But  at  least  we 
have  one  relative, 
Prue." 

The  needles  stop : 
only  the  clock  ticks 


upon  the  mantel  to  remind  us  how  cease 
lessly  the  stream  of  time  flows  on  that  bears 
us  away  from  our  cousin  the  curate. 

When  Prue  and  I  are  most  cheerful,  and 
the  world  looks  fair — we  talk  of  our  cousin 
the  curate.  When  the  world  seems  a  little 
cloudy,  and  we  remember  that  though  we 
have  lived  and  loved  together,  we  may  not 
die  together — we  talk  of  our  cousin  the 
curate.  When  we  plan  little  plans  for  the 
boys  and  dream  dreams  for  the  girls — we 
talk  of  our  cousin  the  curate.  When  I  tell 
Prue  of  Aurelia,  whose  character  is  every 
day  lovelier — we  talk  of  our  cousin  the  cu 
rate.  There  is  no  subject  which  does  not 
seem  to  lead  naturally  to  our  cousin  the 
curate.  As  the  soft  air  steals  in  and  envel 
ops  everything  in  the  world,  so  that  the 
trees  and  the  hills  and  the  rivers,  the  cities, 
the  crops,  and  the  sea,  are  made  remote 
and  delicate  and  beautiful  by  its  pure 
baptism,  so  over  all  the  events  of  our  little 
lives,  comforting,  refining,  and  elevating, 
falls  like  a  benediction  the  remembrance 
of  our  cousin  the  curate. 

He  was  my  only  early  companion.  He 
had  no  brother,  I  had  none  :  and  we  be 
came  brothers  to  each  other.  He  was  al 
ways  beautiful.  His  face  was  symmetrical 
and  delicate ;  his  figure  was  slight  and 

graceful.     He  looked  as  the  sons  of  kings 

250 


ought  to  look:  as  I  am  sure  Philip  Sidney 
looked  when  he  was  a  boy.     His  eyes  were 


blue,  and  as  you 
looked  at  them 
they  seemed  to 
let  your  gaze  out 
into  a  June  heav 
en.  The  blood 
ran  close  to  the 
skin,  and  his 
complexion  had 

the  rich  transparency  light.  There  was  noth 
ing  gross  or  heavy  in  his  expression  or  text 
ure  ;  his  soul  seemed  to  have  mastered  his 
body.  But  he  had  strong  passions,  for  his 
delicacy  was  positive,  not  negative :  it  was 
not  weakness,  but  intensity. 
251 


There  was  a  patch  of  ground  about  the 
house  which  we  tilled  as  a  garden.  I  was 
proud  of  my  morning-glories  and  sweet- 
peas  ;  my  cousin  cultivated  roses.  One  day 
— and  we  could  scarcely  have  been  more 
than  six  years  old  —  we  were  digging  mer 
rily  and  talking.  Suddenly  there  was  some 
kind  of  difference  ;  I  taunted  him,  and,  rais 
ing  his  spade,  he  struck  me  upon  the  leg. 
The  blow  was  heavy  for  a  boy,  and  the 
blood  trickled  from  the  wound.  I  burst 
into  indignant  tears,  and  limped  towards  the 
house.  My  cousin  turned  pale  and  said 
nothing,  but  just  as  I  opened  the  door  he 
darted  by  me,  and  before  I  could  interrupt 
him  he  had  confessed  his  crime  and  asked 
for  punishment. 

From  that  day  he  conquered  himself.  He 
devoted  a  kind  of  ascetic  energy  to  subdu 
ing  his  own  will,  and  I  remember  no  other 
outbreak.  But  the  penalty  he  paid  for  con 
quering  his  will  was  a  loss  of  the  gushing 
expression  of  feeling.  My  cousin  became 
perfectly  gentle  in  his  manner,  but  there 
was  a  want  of  that  pungent  excess,  which  is 
the  finest  flavor  of  character.  His  views 
were  moderate  and  calm.  He  was  swept 
away  by  no  boyish  extravagance,  and,  even 
while  I  wished  he  would  sin  only  a  very  lit 
tle,  I  still  adored  him  as  a  saint.  The  truth 
is,  as  I  tell  Prue,  I  am  so  very  bad  because 
252 


I  have  to  sin  for  two — for  myself  and  our 
cousin  the  curate.     Often,  when  I  returned 
panting  and  restless  from  some  frolic,  which 
had  wasted  al 
most    all    the 
night,    I    was 
rebuked   as   I 


entered  the  room  in  which  he  lay  peace 
fully  sleeping.  There  was  something  holy 
in  the  profound  repose  of  his  beauty,  and, 


253 


as  I  stood  looking  at  him.  how  many  a 
time  the  tears  have  dropped  from  my  hot 
eyes  upon  his  face  while  I  vowed  to  make 
myself  worthy  of  such  a  companion,  for  I 
felt  my  heart  owning  its  allegiance  to  that 
strong  and  imperial  nature. 

My  cousin  was  loved  by  the  boys,  but 
the  girls  worshipped  him.  His  mind,  large 
in  grasp  and  subtle  in  perception,  naturally 
commanded  his  companions,  while  the  lus 
tre  of  his  character  allured  those  who  could 
not  understand  him.  The  asceticism  occa 
sionally  showed  itself  in  a  vein  of  hardness, 
or  rather  of  severity,  in  his  treatment  of 
others.  He  did  what  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  do,  but  he  forgot  that  few  could  see  the 
right  so  clearly  as  he,  and  very  few  of  those 
few  could  so  calmly  obey  the  least  command 
of  conscience.  I  confess  I  was  a  little 
afraid  of  him,  for  I  think  I  never  could  be 
severe. 

In  the  long  winter  evenings  I  often  read 
to  Prue  the  story  of  some  old  father  of  the 
Church,  or  some  quaint  poem  of  George 
Herbert's — and  every  Christmas  Eve  I  read 
to  her  Milton's  ''Hymn  of  the  Nativity.''  Yet, 
when  the  saint  seems  to  us  most  saintly  or 
the  poem  most  pathetic  or  sublime,  we  find 
ourselves  talking  of  our  cousin  the  curate. 
I  have  not  seen  him  for  many  years  ;  but, 
when  we  parted,  his  head  had  the  intellect- 
254 


ual  symmetry  of  Milton's  without  the  puri 
tanic  stoop,  and  with  the  stately  grace  of  a 
cavalier. 

Such  a  boy  has  premature  wisdom — he 
lives  and  suffers  prematurely. 

Prue  loves  to  listen  when  I  speak  of  the 
romance  of  his  life,  and  I  do  not  wonder. 
For  my  part.  I  find  in  the  best  romance  only 
the  story  of  my  love  for  her.  and  often  as  I 
read  to  her,  whenever  I  come  to  what  Tit- 
bottom  calls  •*  the  crying  part."  if  I  lift  my 
eyes  suddenly  I  see  that  Prue's  eyes  are 
fixed  on  me  with  a  softer  light  by  reason  of 
their  moisture. 

Our   cousin    the    curate   loved,  while   he 
was  yet  a  boy.  Flora,  of  the  sparkling  eyes 
and  the  ringing  voice.     His  devotion  was 
absolute.     Flora  was  flattered,  because   all 
the  girls,  as  I  said,  worshipped   him  :    but 
she  was  a  gay.  glancing  girl,  who   had  in 
vaded    the    student's     heart 
with  her  audacious  brilliancy, 
and    was  half  surprised 
that  she  had  subdued  it. 
Our  cousin — for  I  never 
think  of  him  as  my  cous 
in,    only  —  wasted     away 
under  the    fervor   of    his 
passion.    His  life  exhaled 
as    incense    before    her. 
He   wrote   songs   to   her. 


and  sang  them  under  her  window,  in  the 
summer  moonlight.  He  brought  her  flow 
ers  and  precious  gifts.  When  he  had  noth 
ing  else  to  give,  he  gave  her  his  love  in  a 
homage  so  eloquent  and  beautiful  that  the 
worship  was  like  the  worship  of  the  wise 
men.  The  gay  Flora  was  proud  and  superb. 
She  was  a  girl,  and  the  bravest  and  best 
boy  loved  her.  She  was  young,  and  the 
wisest  and  truest  youth  loved  her.  They 
lived  together,  we  all  lived  together,  in  the 
happy  valley  of  childhood.  We  looked 
forward  to  manhood  as  island-poets  look 
across  the  sea,  believing  that  the  whole 
world  beyond  is  a  blest  Araby  of  spices. 

The  months  went  by,  and  the  young  love 
continued.  Our  cousin  and  Flora  were  only 
children  still,  and  there  was  no  engagement. 
The  elders  looked  upon  the  intimacy  as 
natural  and  mutually  beneficial.  It  would 
help  soften  the  boy  and  strengthen  the  girl ; 
and  they  took  for  granted  that  softness  and 
strength  were  precisely  what  were  wanted. 
It  is  a  great  pity  that  men  and  women  for 
get  that  they  have  been  children.  Parents 
are  apt  to  be  foreigners  to  their  sons  and 
daughters.  Maturity  is  the  gate  of  Paradise, 
which  shuts  behind  us  ;  and  our  memories 
are  gradually  weaned  from  the  glories  in 
which  our  nativity  was  cradled. 

The  months  went  by,  the  children  grew 
256 


older,  and  they  constantly  loved.  Now  Prue 
always  smiles  at  one  of  my  theories ;  she  is 
entirely  sceptical  of  it ;  but  it  is,  neverthe 
less,  my  opinion  that  men  love  most  passion 
ately,  and  women  most  permanently.  Men 
love  at  first  and  most  warmly  ;  women  love 
last  and  longest.  This  is  natural  enough; 
for  nature  makes  women  to  be  won,  and 
men  to  win.  Men 
are  the  active,  posi 
tive  force,  and  there 
fore  they  are  the 
more  ardent  and 
demonstrative. 

I  can  never  get 
further  than  that 
in  my  philosophy 
when  Prue  looks 
at  me,  and  smiles 
me  into  scepti 
cism  of  my  own 
doctrines.  But 
they  are  true,  notwithstanding. 

My  day  is  rather  past  for  such  specula 
tions  ;  but  so  long  as  Aurelia  is  unmarried,  I 
am  sure  I  shall  indulge  myself  in  them.  I 
have  never  made  much  progress  in  the  phi 
losophy  of  love  ;  in  fact,  I  can  only  be  sure 
of  this  one  cardinal  principle :  that  when  you 
are  quite  sure  two  people  cannot  be  in  love 
with  each  other  because  there  is  no  earthly 
257 


reason  why  they  should  be,  then  you  may 
be  very  confident  that  you  are  wrong,  and 
that  they  are  in  love,  for  the  secret  of  love 
is  past  finding  out.  Why  our  cousin  should 
have  loved  the  gay  Flora  so  ardently  was 
hard  to  say;  but  that  he  did  so  was  not 
difficult  to  see. 

He  went  away  to  college.  He  wrote  the 
most  glowing  and  passionate  letters  ;  and 
when  he  returned  in  vacations  he  had  no 
eyes,  ears,  nor  heart  for  any  other  being.  I 
rarely  saw  him,  for  I  was  living  away  from 
our  early  home,  and  was  busy  in  a  store — > 
learning  to  be  book-keeper — but  I  heard 
afterwards  from  himself  the  whole  story. 

One  day  when  he  came  home  for  the 
holidays  he  found  a  young  foreigner  with 
Flora  —  a  handsome  youth,  brilliant  and 
graceful.  I  have  asked  Prue  a  thousand 
times  why  women  adore  soldiers  and  foreign 
ers.  She  says  it  is  because  they  love  hero 
ism  and  are  romantic.  A  soldier  is  pro 
fessionally  a  hero,  says  Prue,  and  a  foreigner 
is  associated  with  all  unknown  and  beautiful 
regions.  I  hope  there  is  no  worse  reason. 
But  if  it  be  the  distance  which  is  romantic, 
then,  by  her  own  rule,  the  mountain  which 
looked  to  you  so  lovely  when  you  saw  it 
upon  the  horizon,  when  you  stand  upon  its 
rocky  and  barren  side  has  transmitted  its 
romance  to  its  remotest  neighbor.  I  cannot 
258 


but  admire  the  fancies  of  girls  which  make 
them  poets.  They  have  only  to  look  upon 
a  dull-  eyed,  ignorant,  exhausted  roue  with 
an  impudent  mustache,  and  they  surrender 
to  Italy,  to  the  tropics,  to  the  splendors  of 
nobility  and  a  court  life — and — 

"Stop,"  says  Prue,  gently;  uyou  have  no 
right  to  say  'girls'  do  so,  because  some  poor 
victims  have  been  deluded.  Would  Aurelia 
surrender  to  a  blear-eyed  foreigner  in  a 
mustache  ?" 

Prue  has  such  a  reasonable  way  of  put 
ting  these  things ! 

Our  cousin  came  home  and  found  Flora 
and  the  young  foreigner  conversing.  The 
young  foreigner  had  large,  soft,  black  eyes, 
and  the  dusky  skin  of  the  tropics.  His 
manner  was  languid  and  fascinating,  cour 
teous  and  reserved.  It  assumed  a  natural 
supremacy,  and  you  felt  as  if  here  were  a 
young  prince  travelling  before  he  came  into 
possession  of  his  realm. 

It  is  an  old  fable  that  love  is  blind.  But 
I  think  there  are  no  eyes  so  sharp  as  those 
of  lovers.  I  am  sure  there  is  not  a  shade 
upon  Prue's  brow  that  I  do  not  instantly 
remark,  nor  an  altered  tone  in  her  voice  that 
I  do  not  instantly  observe.  Do  you  sup 
pose  Aurelia  would  not  note  the  slightest 
deviation  of  heart  in  her  lover,  if  she  had 
one  ?  Love  is  the  coldest  of  critics.  To  be 
261 


in  love  is  to  live  in  a  crisis,  and  the  very  im 
minence  of  uncertainty  makes  the  lover  per 
fectly  self-possessed.  His  eye  constantly 
scours  the  horizon.  There  is  no  footfall  so 
light  that  it  does  not  thunder  in  his  ear. 
Love  is  tortured  by  the  tempest  the  moment 
the  cloud  of  a  hand's  size  rises  out  of  the 
sea.  It  foretells  its  own  doom,  but  its  agony 
is  past  before  its  sufferings  are  known. 

Our  cousin  the  curate  no  sooner  saw  the 
tropical  stranger,  and  marked  his  impression 
upon  Flora,  than  he  felt  the  end.  As  the 
shaft  struck  his  heart  his  smile  was  sweeter, 
and  his  homage  even  more  poetic  and  rev 
erential.  I  doubt  if  Flora  understood  him 
or  herself.  She  did  not  know,  what  he  in 
stinctively  perceived,  that  she  loved  him  less. 
But  there  are  no  degrees  in  love ;  when  it 
is  less  than  absolute  and  supreme  it  is  noth 
ing.  Our  cousin  and  Flora  were  not  for- 

O 

mally  engaged,  but  their  betrothal  was  un 
derstood  by  all  of  us  as  a  thing  of  course. 
He  did  not  allude  to  the  stranger;  but  as 
day  followed  day,  he  saw  with  every  nerve 
all  that  passed.  Gradually  — so  gradually 
that  she  scarcely  noticed  it — our  cousin  left 
Flora  more  and  more  with  the  soft -eyed 
stranger,  whom  he  saw  she  preferred.  His 
treatment  of  her  was  so  full  of  tact,  he  still 
walked  and  talked  with  her  so  familiarly, 
that  she  was  not  troubled  by  any  fear  that 
262 


he  saw  what  she  hardly  saw  herself.  There 
fore,  she  was  not  obliged  to  conceal  any 
thing  from  him  or  from  herself  ;  but  all  the 
soft  currents  of  her  heart  were  setting  tow 
ards  the  West  Indian.  Our  cousin's  cheek 
grew  paler,  and  his  soul  burned  and  wasted 
within  him.  His  whole  future — all  his  dream 
of  life — had  been  founded  upon  his  love.  It 
was  a  stately  palace  built  upon  the  sand, 
and  now  the  sand  was  sliding  away.  I  have 
read  somewhere  that  love  will  sacrifice  ev 
erything  but  itself.  But  our  cousin  sacri 
ficed  his  love  to  the  happiness  of  his  mis 
tress.  He  ceased  to  treat  her  as  peculiarly 
his  own.  He  made  no  claim  in  word  or 
manner  that  every 
body  might  not  have 
made.  He  did  not 
refrain  from  seeing 
her,  or  speaking  of 
her  as  of  all  his  oth 
er  friends ;  and,  at 
length,  although  no 
one  could  say  how 
or  when  the  change 
had  been  made,  it 
was  evident  and  un 
derstood  that  he  was 
no  more  her  lover, 
but  that  both  were 
the  best  of  friends. 


He  still  wrote  to  her  occasionally  from 
college,  and  his  letters  were  those  of  a  friend, 
not  of  a  lover.  He  could  not  reproach  her. 
I  do  not  believe  any  man  is  secretly  surprised 
that  a  woman  ceases  to  love  him.  Her  love 
is  a  heavenly  favor  won  by  no  desert  of  his. 
If  it  passes,  he  can  no  more  complain  than 
a  flower  when  the  sunshine  leaves  it. 

Before  our  cousin  left  college  Flora  was 
married  to  the  tropical  stranger.  It  was  the 
brightest  of  June  days,  and  the  summer 
smiled  upon  the  bride.  There  were  roses  in 
her  hand  and  orange  flowers  in  her  hair,  and 
the  village  church -bell  rang  out  over  the 
peaceful  fields.  The  warm  sunshine  lay 
upon  the  landscape  like  God's  blessing,  and 
Prue  and  I,  not  yet  married  ourselves,  stood 
at  an  open  window  in  the  old  meeting-house, 
hand  in  hand,  while  the  young  couple  spoke 
their  vows.  Prue  says  that  brides  are  al 
ways  beautiful,  and  I,  who  remember  Prue 
herself  upon  her  wedding-day  —  how  can  I 
deny  it?  Truly,  the  gay  Flora  was  lovely 
that  summer  morning,  and  the  throng  was 
happy  in  the  old  church.  But  it  was  very 
sad  to  me,  although  I  only  suspected  then 
what  now  I  know.  I  shed  no  tears  at  my 
own  wedding,  but  I  did  at  Flora's,  although 
I  knew  she  was  marrying  a  soft-eyed  youth 
whom  she  dearly  loved,  and  who,  I  doubt 
not,  dearly  loved  her. 
264 


Among  the  group  of  her  nearest  friends 
was  our  cousin  the  curate.  When  the  cere 
mony  was  ended,  he  came  to  shake  her  hand 
with  the  rest.  His  face  was  calm,  and  his 
smile  sweet,  and  his  manner  unconstrained. 
Flora  did  not  blush — why  should  she  ? — but 
shook  his  hand  warmly,  and  thanked  him 
for  his  good  wishes.  Then  they  all  saun 
tered  down  the  aisle  together;  there  were 
some  tears  with  the  smiles  among  the  other 
friends ;  our  cousin  handed  the  bride  into 
her  carriage,  shook  hands  with  the  hus 
band,  closed  the  door,  and  Flora  drove 
away. 

I  have  never  seen 
her  since ;    I  do  not 
even  know  if  she  be 
living   still.      But    I 
shall  always  remem 
ber  her  as  she  looked 
that    June    morn 
ing,  holding  roses 
in   her  hand,  and 
wreathed  with  or 
ange  flowers.  Dear 
Flora!    it  was   no 
fault  of  hers  that 
she  loved  one  man 
more  than  anoth 
er:  she  could  not 
be  blamed  for  not 


preferring  our  cousin  to  the  West  Indian : 
there  is  no  fault  in  the  story,  it  is  only  a 
tragedy. 

Our  cousin  carried  all  the  college  hon 
ors — but  without  exciting  jealousy  or  envy. 
He  was  so  really  the  best  that  his  com 
panions  were  anxious  he  should  have  the 
sign  of  his  superiority.  He  studied  hard, 
he  thought  much,  and  wrote  well.  There 
was  no  evidence  of  any  blight  upon  his 
ambition  or  career,  but  after  living  quietly 
in  the  country  for  some  time  he  went  to 
Europe  and  travelled.  When  he  returned 
he  resolved  to  study  law,  but  presently  re 
linquished  it.  Then  he  collected  materials 
for  a  history,  but  suffered  them  to  lie  un 
used.  Somehow  the  main-spring  was  gone. 
He  used  to  come  and  pass  weeks  with  Prue 
and  me.  His  coming  made  the  children 
happy,  for  he  sat  with  them,  and  talked  and 
played  with  them  all  day  long,  as  one  of 
themselves.  They  had  no  quarrels  when 
our  cousin  the  curate  was  their  playmate, 
and  their  laugh  was  hardly  sweeter  than  his 
as  it  rang  down  from  the  nursery.  Yet 
sometimes,  as  Prue  was  setting  the  tea- 
table,  and  I  sat  musing  by  the  fire,  she 
stopped  and  turned  to  me  as  we  heard  that 
sound,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

He  was  interested  in  all  subjects  that 
interested  others.  His  fine  perception,  his 
266 


clear  sense,  his  noble  imagination,  illumi 
nated  every  question.  His  friends  wanted 
him  to  go  into  political  life,  to  write  a  great 
book,  to  do  something  worthy  of  his  pow 
ers.  It  was  the  very  thing  he  longed  to  do 
himself;  but  he  came  and  played  with  the 
children  in  the  nursery,  and  the  great  deed 
was  undone. 

Often  in  the  long  winter  evenings  we 
talked  of  the  past,  while  Titbottom  sat  si 
lent  by,  and  Prue  was  busily  knitting.  He 
told  us  the  incidents  of  his  early  passion — 
but  he  did  not  moralize  about  it,  nor  sigh, 
nor  grow  moody.  He  turned  to  Prue, 
sometimes,  and  jested  gently,  and  often 
quoted  from  the  old  song  of  George  With 
ers,  I  believe  : 

"  If  she  be  not  fair  for  me 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?" 

But  there  was  no  flippancy  in  the  jesting ;  I 
thought  the  sweet  humor  was  no  gayer  than 
a  flower  upon  a  grave. 
I  am  sure  Titbottom 
loved   our  cousin   the 
curate,  for  his  heart  is 
as    hospitable    as    the 
summer  heaven.     It 
was    beautiful    to 
watch  his  courtesy 
towards  him,  and 


Illlili! 


I  do  not  wonder  that  Prue  considers  the  dep 
uty  book-keeper  the  model  of  a  high-bred 
gentleman.  When  you  see  his  poor  clothes, 
and  thin,  gray  hair,  his  loitering  step,  and 
dreamy  eye,  you  might  pass  him  by  as  an  in 
efficient  man  ;  but  when  you  hear  his  voice 
always  speaking  for  the  noble  and  generous 
side,  or  recounting,  in  a  half -melancholy 
chant,  the  recollections  of  his  youth  ;  when 
you  know  that  his  heart  beats  with  the  sim 
ple  emotion  of  a  boy's  heart,  and  that  his 
courtesy  is  as  delicate  as  a  girl's  modesty, 
you  will  understand  why  Prue  declares  that 
she  has  never  seen  but  one  man  who  re 
minded  her  of  our  especial  favorite,  Sir  Phil 
ip  Sidney,  and  that  his  name  is  Titbottom. 

At  length  our  cousin  went  abroad  again 
to  Europe.  It  was  many  years  ago  that  we 
watched  him  sail  away,  and  when  Titbot 
tom  and  Prue  and  I  went  home  to  dinner 
the  grace  that  was  said  that  day  was  a  fer 
vent  prayer  for  our  cousin  the  curate.  Many 
an  evening  afterwards  the  children  wanted 
him,  and  cried  themselves  to  sleep  calling 
upon  his  name.  Many  an  evening  still  our 
talk  flags  into  silence  as  we  sit  before  the 
fire,  and  Prue  puts  down  her  knitting  and 
takes  my  hand,  as  if  she  knew  my  thoughts, 
although  we  do  not  mention  his  name. 

He  wrote  us  letters  as  he  wandered  about 
the  world.  They  were  affectionate  letters, 
268 


full    of   observation    and   thought   and   de 
scription.     He  lingered  longest  in  Italy,  but 
he  said  his  conscience  accused  him  of  yield 
ing  to  the  sirens;  and  he  declared  that  his 
life  was  running  uselessly  away.     At  last  he 
came  to  England.     He  was   charmed  with 
everything,  and  the  climate  was  even 
kinder  to  him  than  that  of 
Italy.     He  went  to  all  the 
famous    places,    and    saw 
many  of  the  famous  Eng 
lishmen,  and  wrote  that  he 
felt  England  to  be  his  home. 
Burying  himself  in  the  an 
cient  gloom  of  a  university 
town,    although    past    the 
prime   of   life,    he    studied 
like  an  ambitious  boy.    He 
said  again  that  his  life  had 
been  wine  poured  upon  the 
ground,  and  he  felt  guilty. 
And   so   our  cousin   be 
came  a  curate. 

"  Surely,"  wrote   he, 
"you   and    Prue  will   be 
glad  to  hear  it;  and  my 
friend    Titbottom     can    no    longer    boast 
that   he  is  more  useful  in  the  world   than 
I.     Dear  old  George  Herbert  has  already 
said  what   I  would   say  to    you,  and    here 

it  is  : 

269 


"  '  I  made  a  posy,  while  the  day  ran  by  ; 
Here  will  I  smell  my  remnant  out,  and  tie 

My  life  within  this  band. 

But  time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers,  and  they 
My  noon  most  cunningly  did  steal  away, 
And  wither'd  in  my  hand. 

" '  My  hand  was  next  to  them,  and  then  my  heart ; 
I  took,   without  more  thinking,  in  good  part, 

Time's  gentle  admonition  ; 

Which  did  so  sweetly  death's  sad  taste  convey, 
Making  my  mind  to  smell  my  fatal  day, 

Yet  sugaring  the  suspicion. 

"'Farewell,    dear   flowers,    sweetly   your   time    ye 

spent  ; 
Fit,  while  ye  lived,  for  smell  or  ornament, 

And  after  death  for  cures  ; 
I  follow  straight  without  complaints  or  grief, 
Since  if  my  scent  be  good,  I  care  not  if 
It  be  as  short  as  yours.'" 

This  is  our  only  relation ;  and  do  you 
wonder  that,  whether  our  days  are  dark  or 
bright,  we  naturally  speak  of  our  cousin  the 
curate  ?  There  is  no  nursery  longer,  for  the 
children  are  grown  ;  but  I  have  seen  Prue 
stand  with  her  hand  holding  the  door  for 
an  hour  and  looking  into  the  room  now  so 
sadly  still  and  tidy,  with  a  sweet  solemnity 
in  her  eyes  that  I  will  call  holy.  Our  chil 
dren  have  forgotten  their  old  playmate,  but 
I  am  sure  if  there  be  any  children  in  his 
parish,  over  the  sea,  they  love  our  cousin 
270 


the  curate,  and  watch  eagerly  for  his  com 
ing.  Does  his  step  falter  now,  I  wonder  ;  is 
that  long,  fair  hair,  gray  ;  is  that  laugh  as 
musical  in  those  distant  homes  as  it  used  to 
be  in  our  nursery ;  has  England,  among  all 
her  good  and  great  men,  any  man  so  noble 
as  our  cousin  the  curate  ? 

The  great  book  is  unwritten ;  the  great 
deeds  are  undone  ;  in  no  biographical  dic 
tionary  will  you  find  the  name  of  our  cousin 
the  curate.  Is  his  life,  therefore,  lost  ?  Have 
his  powers  been  wasted  ? 

I  do  not  dare  to  say  it ;  for  I  see  Bourne, 
on  the  pinnacle  of  prosperity,  but  still  look 
ing  sadly  for  his  castle  in  Spain ;  I  see  Tit- 
bottom,  an  old  deputy  book  -  keeper,  whom 
nobody  knows,  but 
with   his  chivalric 
heart,  full  of  sweet 
hope  and  faith  and 
devotion ;  I  see  the 
superb  Aurelia,  so 
lovely  that  the  In 
dians    would    call 
her  a  smile  of  the 
Great    Spirit,    and 
as  beneficent  as  a 
saint  of  the  calen 
dar —  how  shall   I 
say  what  is  lost,  or 
what    is    won  ?      I 


know  only  that  in  every  way,  and  by  all  his 
creatures,  God  is  served  and  his  purposes 
accomplished.  How  should  I  explain  or 
understand,  I  who  am  only  an  old  book 
keeper  in  a  white  cravat  ? 

Yet  in  all  history,  in  the  splendid  triumphs 
of  emperors  and  kings,  in  the  dreams  of 
poets,  the  speculations  of  philosophers,  the 
sacrifices  of  heroes,  and  the  ecstasies  of 
saints,  I  find  no  exclusive  secret  of  success. 
Prue  says  she  knows  that  nobody  ever  did 
more  good  than  our  cousin  the  curate,  for 
every  smile  and  word  of  his  is  a  good  deed ; 
and  I,  for  my  part,  am  sure  that,  although 
many  must  do  more  good  than  we  do  in  the 
world,  nobody  enjoys  it  more  than  Prue 
and  I. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


— — 


,. 


LD  21A-60m-3,'65 
(F2336slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  Californi: 

Berkeley 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


